In the Shadow of the Toll Bridge
by Nikstlitslepmur
Summary: AU: Something DID jog the memory of our favorite prince that night...but it wasn't the windmill. What would have happened if David Nolan had remembered his REAL life instead of his fake one that fateful night in Gold's shop? What would have happened if David and Mary Margaret had awoken long before anyone else and been left to deal with the monumental task of breaking the curse?
1. The toll bridge

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge…**

David walked down to the pawn shop as the mayor had instructed him to do, but there was no fork in the road. There was no trail. Had he heard her wrong? Did she not actually know the way to the toll bridge? He let out a frustrated sigh and glanced up at the great town clock gleaming ominously against the darkened sky – 7:52. He was running out of time. If he was late, he might miss her. She might worry something happened to him and go looking…or worse – she might think he'd changed his mind. That would devastate her…and the thought of breaking her heart? Well, he couldn't explain it, but somehow he _knew _that he'd rather die than hurt the beautiful, ebony-haired Mary Margaret. Nervously, he glanced at the door of the pawn shop above which hung the name of its proprietor, Mr. Gold. Perhaps this gentleman knew the way. It was still open, so he hastily pushed inside.

An array of sights and smells overwhelmed his senses immediately upon entering. He felt something. Something…familiar. A sensation he'd only ever experienced whenever Mary was around. But how? He surveyed the curious collection of treasures, each one-of-a-kind and all foreign to him. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling.

He walked down a narrow aisle of trinkets and antiques. There was an old set of china teacups, an assortment of jewels and diadems, an ancient-looking lamp in desperate need of polish, two rather ghoulish puppets perched atop the counter – nothing beyond what one would expect to find in the pawn shop of an eccentric small town run by (if what he'd heard was true) an equally eccentric little man. David continued taking a mental inventory of everything – odd pieces of furniture, a beat up rocking horse…and then he stopped briefly in the corner as he came upon a miniature windmill. It was old, rotting and looked about ready to fall apart if handled, but there was something about it. He felt he'd seen it before. Was this it? Was this what drew him to –

"Sad, pathetic-looking thing isn't it?"

David whipped around, jumping at the sound.

"Excuse me?" he said, clearing his throat as he spun around. But the sight of the man whom he presumed to be Mr. Gold was no less startling than his voice had been, and David glared into the beady eyes of a face he _knew _he'd seen before.

"The windmill," Gold pointed to the old vanes, creaking slightly as David's hand slipped and set it lightly spinning despite the sudden stuffiness in the air. "Been collecting dust for years."

David continued to stare at the man through the revolving blades as it came to rest once more. But the moment passed and whatever realization had almost dawned vanished just as quickly.

"Do you know your way around here?" he asked, finding his voice again. "I've uh – " he glanced down at the tattered and mangled up town map in his hands. "I'm looking for the toll bridge?"

Gold let out a humorless chuckle. "And you ended up here?"

"Well the mayor sent me this way and…I dunno, maybe I heard wrong."

"It seems she led you astray," Gold said with another staid grin.

"Yeah," David shook his head. "You'd think the mayor would…" but he trailed off as something glimmered into view. He hadn't noticed it when he'd walked in but there it hung like a beacon in front of him. Almost in a trance, he approached it, cautiously as if he were afraid it might disappear if he went too quick. It was beautiful. Delicate. Pristine – unlike anything in the entire shop: a child's mobile from which hung dozens of exquisitely crafted glass unicorns.

"Marvelous isn't it?" he heard Gold say, but the voice sounded far off. David stood mesmerized by its form and its sapphire hue. It seemed to be singing to him, though he heard no melody. He inched forward, reaching out his hand tentatively, as if testing for a mirage. And then…

_"You're thinking about the queen again aren't you…"_

David grasped at the ends of his hair, tugging and pulling like someone in the throws of a violent migraine.

_"I can't keep having this conversation. We're about to have a baby!"_

_"I haven't had a restful night since our wedding…"_

"Are you all right?" the broker said, now moving from behind his counter, but David didn't hear him.

_"That's what she wants, to get in your head but they're only words. She can't hurt us…"_

"Mr – " the now agitated Mr. Gold reached out to steady David from stumbling into countertops full of valuables but David shoved him off.

"Don't," he snapped, his eyes still slammed shut as he reeled back from Gold and stumbled up the aisle back toward the doorway. He had to get out of here. He had to get free. Something…something wasn't right…_nothing _was right…

_"It's too dangerous."_

_"He sees the future."_

_"There's a reason he's locked up...locked up….locked up—"_

"No!" David cried out, his head pulsing now as he tumbled out of the pawn shop still clawing at his hair and collapsed to the pavement. What was happening to him? What was he remembering? Who was that voice? It couldn't be Kathryn. No face could be further from his mind. The mobile…something about the mobile…

"_Can you promise me that our child will be safe? Can you guarantee it because _he_ can!"_

He hung his head in agony. He could feel the memories boring through his brain, trying to reach the surface, to break free, and then suddenly, the town clock started to chime. David's eyes flew up to the tower as the bells pealed 8 o'clock. The time in between chimes seemed to stretch as each one pinged a little heavier, a little lower…

"_All right…for our child…our child…"_

Our child, he thought. The man's heart was pounding, the echoes of the chimes still thrumming in his chest as he rose from the pavement…a changed man. 8 o'clock, he thought as his eyes darted up and between the strange buildings and curious architecture around him. He shot a look beyond the alleyway of the shop and spotted the path to the woods. Stalking up the pavement, as a curious Mr. Gold looked on from his window, the man rushed for the trail. After all…he was late…

The journey seemed to take hours, but he covered the ground in under 10 minutes. Leaping over brooks and streams, foraging through the dense but now familiar vegetation of the land, he followed the path he knew would lead him to her. Panicked, he wondered if he would be too late, if he would remember how to reach her new dwelling should he miss her and have need of finding her in town. But as he turned down the next ridge and spotted the tiniest bit of color amongst the oaks and willows, he knew such concerns were unnecessary. There she was…looking lovelier and more…innocent than he had ever seen her. More beautiful than she had been when they first met…here…by the troll bridge.

The young woman turned, hearing the sounds of his shoes rustling through fallen leaves. She smiled when she saw him, but in her expression he read relief. The nervous relief of a woman who had been certain she'd made a mistake. She thought he would not come. She thought he might betray her. His heart beat violently now. He meant to end any shred of that doubt in her. He meant to end it now.

"David," she said quietly, her voice so soft, so…fragile. Where was the fire? Where was her strength? What had _she _done to his beloved? She looked down at her hands nervously fiddling with something around her finger. He looked down too…it was the ring. She still had it. Of course she did. "I was um," she stammered, blushing like a schoolgirl under his passionate gaze. "I was beginning to think you—"

"My name is not David," he said, gruffly.

She shivered and looked up in surprise. "W-what?"

"It's true," he said, advancing on her now so intensely that she staggered back a few steps before he grasped both her shoulders and steadied her by the stream. "It's not David. And you're not Mary Margaret."

She barely had time to gasp – let alone protest – before he pulled her to him, nearly crushing her against his chest. Her arms tensed in his, bracing herself for the near ferocity he'd already demonstrated, but she did not move away. Something told her to stay. Something…so…right…She closed her eyes…and he kissed her.

His lips were soft at first, gentle for mere moments before he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her soundly. She melted into him, her knees turning to jello as his arms then trailed down the length of her own, slipped around her waist and caressed up her back. She clutched at the collar of his shirt, a soft whimper escaping her as she pulled him closer. She ran her fingers through his hair and snaked her arms around his neck, relishing in his warmth. The feel of his lips, the taste of him – why did she feel as if she'd done this before? Why did it seem so familiar? She was Mary Margaret. _Sister _Mary Margaret as some folks jokingly called her, and the nickname certainly had had some truth in it. And yet, here she was, in the shadows of the toll bridge…_In the shadow of the troll bridge…shadow of the troll bridge that there love was born…_

She winced in his arms and felt an urge to pull back. Something was happening…something felt…different…

"_How could I let Prince Charming die?"_

"David?" she cried suddenly, staring up at him. And then she saw it – those piercing blue eyes, like crystal. She'd noticed them before of course. What woman wouldn't have noticed? But they weren't the eyes of a stranger.

In spite of everything, he laughed. "I told you…I'm not David."

"_I told you…I have a name…"_

She shook her head, cringing against the sudden agony of too many memories all rushing back at once colliding with those that replaced them, those that had violated her. Her ears were ringing, her head was pulsing, and nothing but her lover's iron-clad grip around her waist kept her from collapsing to the forest floor as the waves of pain abated…and Snow White emerged. Slowly, her eyes came back into focus and met the gaze of a man she knew…all too well.

Feeling slightly fatigued (not unlike she had just finished a long and arduous swim) she looked up and gave him a wry smile. "James," she whispered, and the sound of his name from her lips was music to his ears. "You found me."

Tears stung his eyes as he pulled her to him once more, burying his head in her shoulder, and cried. "I will _always_ find you."

*****Sunday's episode was sooooooooo sad, I couldn't help writing this…will get back to "Filling in the Blanks" soon. Thanks for reading!*****


	2. A world of doubt

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Chapter 2 – A world of doubt…**

"28 years, James," Snow said in distress.

"I know."

"28 _years_ I worked in that hospital," she hugged herself against the memory, "and I never recognized you."

"Snow—"

"All that time, I never gave you a second glance."

James pushed himself off the downed tree they were leaning against and stepped in front of her. "Snow, don't do this. It was the curse—"

"28 years," she murmured again, shaking her head.

"Listen to me," he grasped her shoulders and forced her eyes to meet his. "It's over now. We made it." He grazed the back of his hand down her face, brushing away her falling tears. "You _saved_ me," he whispered. "As I saved you, remember? Just like I knew you would."

Snow closed her eyes with a sigh and leaned into him. James wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head against his chest. She couldn't believe the enormous relief she felt, and yet…"It feels an eternity since I last saw you," she sniffled into his—strangely colorful shirt. "And at the same time," she pulled back to look at him, sliding her hands up his chest, "it seems only yesterday I ran into the nursery and saw you…" her breath hitched in her throat, "saw you lying there by the wardrobe."

"Shh…It's over," he soothed, clasping one of her hands against his heart. He squeezed it tight, as if assuring her that he was indeed, quite real.

But his princess shook her head. "It's not though. Not even close." She stepped away from him and peered out in the direction of the town. "All those people, James. _Our _people. They're still living in this," she glanced down at the horridly short, motley skirt she wore and shivered, "prison."

"Yes, but we're awake now," James insisted, joining her again. "We can tell them—"

"No!" she cried. "We can't just _tell _them—"

"Why not?"

"They'll lock us away—"

"Snow—"

"I'm serious!" she argued, her tone shifting, and James at last saw his wife's passion and intensity alight in her eyes. "You haven't been truly _living _in this world as long as I have. You can't know what it's like."

"I think I have a pretty good idea," James countered bitterly, rubbing the shoulder that he'd been forcing back into peek condition, having been surrounded by doctors and psychologists and therapists and counselors for weeks discussing his "amnesia."

"Then you know I speak the truth. This world is full of doubt, James. People here, they…" her thoughts turned inward. Sad. "They don't believe in anything."

James stood quietly, unable to contradict his wife's brutal but accurate assessment of this place. Though he had been awake as 'David' for only a short time, he had seen already the cruelties of a world without magic, without happy endings. The queen had certainly made good on her threat. And yet… "Then we _make _them believe."

Snow rubbed her arms though she was not cold. The material of her cardigan felt soft and plush against her skin. It offered the warmth of a dressing gown without the hassle of extra material. There were many things in this world she had grown accustomed to, and it was for this reason she doubted her husband's optimism. They had _all _grown accustomed to Storybrooke. How could they ever hope to save a people unaware of the fact that they needed saving? "We don't have that kind of power," she said sadly. "There's no magic here besides the queen's."

"Darling," James said steadily, once more taking her hands in his and forcing her to look at him. "_Our _daughter set _this _into motion," he stepped back and held her hands out at arm's length, emphasizing the very great feat of their own awakening as something concrete. Something substantial. "_Nothing _is more powerful than _us_."

Snow gazed up at him in wonderment. His faith in their love was unchanged – steadfast – eternal. And she adored him for it. Closing the gap between them, she grasped the collar of his shirt and kissed him, rejoicing in the familiar feel of his lips pressed against her own. The force with which she embraced him caught him – for a moment – quite comically off guard. But he responded almost immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and lifting her off the ground.

As he deepened the kiss, Snow felt the doubt and sorrow inside her slide away. He was right. They _were _powerful. Their love, their bond had been enough to break through the curse. Their daughter— Snow gasped, jerking back from him…their _daughter!_

"What?" James asked, panting and confused. "What is it?"

"Emma," she whispered, looking up at him. James stared at her blankly…and then fully understood for he immediately reached for her again. "_Emma_," she repeated.

"I know," he said, squeezing her hand.

Her voice was breaking, eyes brimming with tears. "She's _beautiful_."

"I know," he managed, though he choked back a sob.

"James—"

He shook his head, "Don't—"

"We missed _everything_."

"Don't do this to yourself—"

"She's our _daughter_—"

"And she _found _us," he said, finding his voice again, though his eyes were wet and bleary. "She may not know who she is yet, but she came back for us."

"Oh, but James," Snow shook her head, turning away from him to search the sky for answers it didn't have. "She's so…" she trailed off, wiping the palm of her hand across her forehead, "God, she's so _messed up_."

James blinked at her and froze. This rather blunt (and quite modern) diagnosis took him completely by surprise, and despite the very real regret in his wife's tone…he started to chuckle.

She whirled around and glared at him. "It's not funny!"

But what began as a chuckle turned implacably hilarious and James couldn't help it as he downright guffawed.

"St-top laughing!" Snow scolded him, but she too had started to snigger a bit and soon, they were both enjoying the relief of a good and hearty laugh. "James," she whined after a time, though they were now both smiling.

"I know, I know," he said, catching his breath and settling down. He laced his fingers through her own and they began walking along the stream, vaguely in the direction of the town though with no real destination yet. "I'm sorry."

Sobering a bit, Snow continued, "I only meant that she's just so…" she struggled to find the words.

"Hard," he offered quietly.

Snow stopped in her tracks and stared at him. "Yes!" she said, confused. "How did _you _know that?"

James sighed, "I met her yesterday. At that party?"

"Oh yes," Snow nodded, remembering now the 'Welcome Home David' party she'd chosen not to attend. "I…I forgot about that."

"I didn't know who she was at the time," he continued, "but I could tell she was…"

She tightened her grip on his hand. "What?" she implored the way any mother would out of concern for her child, "she was what?"

He moved in front of her and sighed again. "She was…guarded. Kind of…"

"Walled off," she finished for him, nodding. "She doesn't trust anyone," she added sadly.

This time, there was no humor in it. James searched for the right words, but they were both feeling the same regrets, the same worries that generations of parents felt for children who were…lost.

"When we sent her through that wardrobe—" Snow started.

But James drew the line there. "We sent her through to save her, Snow."

"I know."

"To protect her from the curse."

"I know but—"

"No, look at me," he commanded and he planted her in front of him. "We gave her her best chance," he said. "_You _gave her that chance, remember? I wasn't strong enough." At this, she smiled gratefully, cupping his cheek in her hand as he continued. "And one day, she will know that."

"She'll never believe that we—"

"She _will_," he insisted, and he held her face in his palms. "I promise you. Emma _will know_ her mother's love."

He could see her struggling again with her doubts. But after a few moments, she gave in and smiled, her eyes glistening as she added, "And her father's."

*****So I originally intended this to be a one-shot, but your reviews have been so kind and so many have messaged me about continuing. So I started jotting down ideas. There's lots our favorite prince and princess have to do before the battle is won…but I believe this is how the way they would begin…stay tuned!*****


	3. Tell no one

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Chapter 3 – Tell no one…**

James and Snow resumed their walk along the stream, sharing in memories no longer forgotten. Reminiscing felt a little better than dwelling on the obstacles they still must face, and so they indulged in a few rounds of _remember when'_s. In fact, James had already resolved to return to the pawn shop first thing tomorrow and reclaim the crystalline mobile hanging from its unworthy ceiling. It belonged with its owner, his raven-haired bride for whom he'd had it commissioned. Even this memory, however, inevitably led him back to the present as he wondered about the old man behind each carefully crafted unicorn. As 'David', he'd seen nothing yet of Geppetto.

Snow, likewise, had begun cataloguing images of Storybrooke's citizens in her mind. Having seen many more of them than her husband, and knowing first-hand the troubles plaguing their once prosperous subjects, the task of freeing them now overwhelmed her. There were so many unhappy people. So many hopeless cases. Granny and Red barely spoke to each other. The brave huntsman who'd spared her in the forest was, as far as she could tell, still the queen's lackey. She wouldn't know where to _begin_ looking for Jiminy Cricket among the wild animals here, few of whom responded to her in this world as they had in hers. And there had been absolutely no sign of Pinocchio.

This last recollection disturbed her most, for it pained her to think of how unhappy Geppetto must be, having been returned to a childless state without a son to teach and guide and love. Childless, she thought, unable to prevent the connection in her mind from Geppetto's loss back to her own. Her hands instinctively came around her middle, hugging her now empty womb. It had been 28 years since she'd said goodbye to her sweet girl. And yet she suddenly felt as tender and empty as a woman who had just given birth.

"We can't tell her right away," James said aloud, cutting into her musings (for which she was grateful). He too, it seemed, had gone back to thinking about Emma, and Snow smiled as she squeezed his hand just a little tighter, pleased to see that her prince still had a knack for reading her mind.

"No we can't," she agreed.

"And you're right, people _will _think we're crazy if we start running around town telling people who they really are."

Snow nodded. "And we have to be careful who finds out that we know. There are…certain people we don't _want_ remembering," she paused, her voice full of resentment, "and others who _can't _know that we _do_."

"Like Rumpelstiltskin," James grunted, thinking again on the pawn shop.

"And the queen," she added.

James sighed, remembering something. "That will be…challenging."

"What will?"

"Keeping our reunion from the queen. She's already on to us."

Snow nodded, "because you left your party last night?"

"And because she knows we're here."

Snow stopped dead in her tracks, her hand falling limp in his. "What?"

James started at her reaction, having honestly forgotten that he'd told her nothing of the queen, 'Mr. Gold', the shop or anything else that had brought him here tonight. "She stopped me in the street as I was on my way to find you. As 'David' I got a little turned around."

"And you _told_ her you were coming to meet me?"

"Yea—well, no, not exactly" James's brow creased in confusion. "I said I was meeting _someone_," he struggled to remember, but honestly he couldn't care about any one soul _less _than he did about 'Mayor Regina', so he'd all but forgotten her pathetic attempt to steer him in the wrong direction. His wife, on the other hand, seemed to think this information quite critical.

"James!" she said, her voice stern and chiding.

"What?"

"She _knows _about us?"

"No—I said _someone_—"

"Yes, but she's not an imbecile."

"I beg to differ."

"Be serious!" she scoffed and swatted him on the arm. "You told the queen that—"

"I didn't _know_ she was the queen—"

"That doesn't matter. We have to assume since it was her curse that she is the only one here who knows about it. If she thinks there's even a _chance_ that we're together, she'll—"

"She'll what?" he challenged. "She'll come after us again? Curse us again? She'll—"

"She'll kill you," she said quietly, and her certainty alarmed him. The effect was quite sobering and James resisted the urge to keep their characteristic banter going. Snow was trembling now, as if her fears threatened to engulf her. "The whole point of this curse was to strip away the happy endings," she whispered. "If she finds that it has failed, she'll…just…kill you. No revenge would be sweeter to her than to see me…" she closed her eyes, unable to meet the love and concern in his gaze as she finished, "…than to see me lose you again."

James gathered her up in a fierce hug. She was right, of course. A woman evil enough to have killed her own husband, poisoned her step daughter, and enacted this curse would stop at nothing to keep it going by eliminating those who dared to overcome it.

Snow took comfort in his protective embrace, but then forced herself to push him away. "You have to go," she said quickly, before she could change her mind.

"What?" he stumbled backward.

"Now!" She glanced up at the town clock which was, by now, in plain view. "It's almost 9 o'clock. An entire hour has passed already."

"And just where am I supposed to go?"

Snow's hands came to her hips, and she stared at him as if the answer was obvious. "Back home," she implored, "back to where 'David' lives."

James's eyes widened. "You want me to go back _there_? For what purpose?"

"It's the life she gave you. She has to be made to think you still believe it's real."

The logic of Snow's argument was completely lost on her poor prince, for returning to that house meant returning to… "You do realize," he crossed his arms over his chest, "who she turned into my _wife _over here?"

She was about to reply and then snapped her mouth shut. She actually _had _forgotten; his safety was her only priority right now, and she knew she was right. Still…that didn't stop her mouth from curling into a wicked smile upon remembering who indeed had been cast in the role of 'David's' spouse. The grin threatened to spread wider and she tried fruitlessly to suppress it.

"It's not…funny," he warned her.

"It's a little funny."

"No, not in the slightest." She'd turned the tables on him, he realized dimly. But he did not share in this particular amusement. After all…it was _Abigail_!

She let out a tiny snort, and tried lamely to cover it with a cough. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"Snow!"

"I'm sorry!" she said, trying not to succumb to giggles. It was difficult though. _The nag with the bad attitude_. She'd found it funny then, and she couldn't help herself now.

"You do realize what you're asking of me," he said, his arms still crossed as he shifted all his weight to one leg. "You want me to pretend I've gone back to Abigail?"

"Kathryn," she corrected.

"Whatever."

"No, _Kathryn_," she insisted, gaining control of herself once more. She approached him seriously, her grin fading. "The queen must think that our meeting went…badly. If she senses _anything_—"

"All right, all right," he held his hands up in surrender, admitting defeat. She was, after all, always right. He stepped closer to her and smoothed his palms down the length of her arms. "It won't be easy you know, going back there after having you in my arms again."

Snow tried hard to ignore her body's reaction to his gentle touch. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, determined to maintain her resolve. "It won't be for long," she rasped, placing her hands on his chest, half holding him off…half pulling him closer.

"It better not, Snow," he murmured, his voice husky as he moved closer still, their breath mingling in the chilly night air.

"'Mary-Margaret'," she whispered. "You must use—" but he cut her off, dipping his head down to hers and claiming her once more with a kiss. It was one of many that evening, but this one was different, for it came with the pent-up frustrations of more than two decades' worth of repressed passion. Snow's resolve melted as he encircled her, one arm pressing her close to him by the small of her back, the other sliding up into her hair and massaging the back of her neck. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips open with his tongue, and drank his fill of her as she moaned and swooned, struggling to stay on her own two feet. _Too much_, she thought sinfully …_way too much… too … fast… oh… sweet… Lord…_ His arms were around her waist now, gripping her like a vise as he pressed kisses to the corners of her mouth… along the edge of her chin…and down…her…neck. "James!" she gasped, sliding her hands into his hair as she stared up at the stars, his exquisite torturing of her body moving her heavenward as she tried _not _to think about…how long it had been…

Suddenly, like a watchful chaperone, the clock tower began to chime 9 o'clock, and the interruption was enough to send Snow back down to earth. She pulled back from him panting, but still clasping the lapels of his shirt.

James groaned in frustration, touching his forehead to hers while catching his breath. "You...are..._killing _me," he whispered fiercely, knowing their time of parting was imminent.

"I know," she said breathily, wanting him more than she dared admit out loud. "But for now, we must be careful."

And her pleading tone at last convinced him to release her. "I'll find you tomorrow," he said, stepping back from her slowly, trailing his hand all the way down her arm until only the tips of their fingers were touching.

"Be careful of—"

"I'll make sure the queen is nowhere in sight," he assured her, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand and then forcing himself to turn from her, stalking up the short hill toward town.

She watched him go, aching to be near him, but knowing it was for the best. He must leave first, and she must follow many minutes later so as to solidify the charade, convincing any passers-by who may gossip to the queen. He was at the top of the hill now and was about to disappear from sight when he stopped and turned around.

"Snow?" he called.

"'_Mary-Margaret'_," she insisted again.

He rolled his eyes but nodded. "Mary Margaret," he conceded, "when you see Emma tonight…" his breath hitched a bit, and she gazed at him intently. "Make sure you say good night…for both of us."

Too moved to speak, she could only nod as her husband turned back into the fog and disappeared.

*****Next-up: Mary Margaret returns home to find Emma stewing over her encounter with Graham that evening. (Remember that?) Plus…how will James react when Snow insists that they tell the **_**mayor's son**_** about their revelation?*****

**Working on it as we speak…thanks for all the reviews and favs and alerts. You are SO good for my self esteem! **


	4. A mother's wisdom

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Chapter 4 – A mother's wisdom…**

It was not difficult for Snow to find her way out of the forest. Despite the absence of certain structures (most noticeably the entrance to the mines and the dwarfs' old cottage), the woods themselves, it seemed, were largely unchanged. She decided to leave by following the stream back up to the river basin that once encircled their palace. Except of course, the palace was no longer there. It had been reduced, she thought bitterly, to a child's playground structure, built in the vague shape of a castle with a few red pennants fluttering almost mockingly in the wind. A cruel joke, she thought, though she decided not to allow the ever-growing rage toward her step mother to consume her. The few lonely platforms looked especially small to her now, much more so than they ever had when she was just Mary Margaret, observing her students at play. Observing Henry…Henry, she thought wondrously. No wonder she had felt such an intense connection to the boy. He was as much a part of her as Emma. Her _grand_son, she realized, though the thought of it made her shiver. Grandmother? Dare she ever claim that right? Could she when her _own _daughter had no idea who she was and had – on more than one occasion – _insisted_ she was not here to claim Henry as her own?

Snow hugged herself against the wind breezing briskly through the night sky, and longed for her husband's arms around her once more. She had made the right decision, but it was indeed torture to have found each other again only to be forced apart by the circumstances of the curse. There was too much to be done to risk exposure yet. They must work quietly, secretly. They must slowly bring the town out of its haze before daring to take on the queen. The thought of her eventual demise though strengthened her resolve, and with a firm nod, she turned from the dilapidated castle structure and headed for Mary Margaret's home.

When she arrived, the house was dark, and she fought against her gut instinct to feel alone and abandoned. Remembering her life as both Snow and Mary Margaret was confusing as hell, for she had lived a miserable existence here for so long, and was beginning to realize just how much of that time she'd spent wallowing in self-pity, self-doubt, and lonesomeness. She hated herself for that, for not being stronger, for being too afraid to take chances or seek happiness as Mary Margaret. But she hated the queen more, and she knew the hope and fire James had rekindled in her would combat and defeat those weak and pathetic traits to which Mary Margaret had resigned herself far too easily.

She glanced up at the cuckoo clock on her wall as it happily chirped the quarter-hour and Snow was suddenly struck by how much this place looked and felt like…_her_. It was rustic and homey with pastoral murals decorating the brick walls and archways. Assorted pots, floral china and homemade ceramics decorated every corner and hanging just outside the parlor window were a half-dozen birdhouses each with its own occupant happily settling in for the night. Remembering these dear friends, she practically leapt across the kitchen and spread apart the white curtains, leaning out across the sill. "Little one," she whispered softly to the night air. She heard nothing but the breeze for a moment and then, with a rustling of feathers and a happy chirp, a tiny bluebird peaked its head out of one of the houses and met her eyes. Snow broke into a wide grin and reached her arm out the window, extending her finger as a perch as she had done so many times in both worlds. After a few spastic twitches, the bluebird immediately hopped onto the makeshift perch and whistled sweetly.

Snow carefully brought the bird into the house and laughed at the soft tickling of its tiny claws bouncing up and down on her finger. "It's been a long time, hasn't it little one?"

The bird whistled back, its happy twittering music to Snow's deprived ears.

"I know, I've been gone a long time, but don't worry. We'll all be all right now." Again the bird whistled back and Snow continued her quasi tour around her own place, stopping to examine an assortment of tea cups behind a glass cabinet. "Perhaps you and the others can help," she resumed her conversation. "Do you know what became of Jiminy?"

This time, the bird did not tweet back. Instead, it spread its wings as wide as it could and flapped them maddeningly, though its claws remained clutched to her finger.

Snow frowned and her face fell. "As I suspected," she said. "Keep an eye out though, all right? He must be in the forest somewhere."

The bluebird cheeped at her once more and Snow reached inside a horse-shaped candy dish, retrieved a few sunflower seeds, and held them out to her blue companion. It gobbled them up in its beak, chirped gratefully and rewarded Snow with a short, merry tune.

"Do me a favor?" she smiled and winked at the bird. Seeming to understand implicitly, the bird gave a barely perceptible, almost human nod and then flew out into the night air.

As she watched it go, her eyes fell upon a pile of stacked boxes in the corner. Emma's boxes. Emma, she thought, cautiously approaching the corner. She remembered Emma unpacking a few of them days before: how fragile she had looked when Snow had casually asked if there were any more arriving or in storage. _Thoughtless_, she scolded herself. Making her daughter feel as if what she owned wasn't adequate. A part of her felt ridiculous even thinking it. As Mary Margaret, it was unfathomable to her that she should have a daughter her _own age_! But as Snow White, this odd bit of fate made no difference. Emma was her daughter. Hers and James. And she would make sure the young woman knew the comforts of home, family, and love.

With a determined nod, she decided she'd make up a pot of cocoa to be ready when Emma returned. She was just about to put on the kettle when something caught her eye. Another group of Emma's things, a pile of clothing she'd unpacked that morning (when looking for something different to wear than that horrid red jacket), was lying on one of the kitchen chairs. Most of it was clothing, but peeking out from beneath it all was something very…very…familiar…

Snow felt it pulling her, and inched toward it slowly as if it would disappear if she moved too fast. Slowly, she reached toward the pile and pushed most of the modern apparel out of the way…revealing a tiny, knitted blanket with the name 'Emma' embroidered lovingly in purple script across the front. The blanket they'd wrapped her in…to send her through. "Emma," she whispered as tears flooded into her eyes and she wept silently, clutching it tightly to her chest. "My sweet girl."

At that moment, footsteps came pounding up her front hallway and Emma herself flung open the door.

Both women were a bit startled to find each other standing there, Snow so close to the doorway and Emma halted in its frame. A quick glance told Snow that her daughter was upset, for her cheeks were flushed, her dirty blonde hair flopped wildly around her shoulders, and she had that steely glare in her eyes – the same glare Snow had seen in her when she'd discovered that Doctor Hopper had betrayed Henry. "Emma," she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Are you all right?"

Emma looked sharply between Mary Margaret and the blanket she was holding before responding. "I was…just going to ask you the same thing," she said warily, her hand still on the doorknob. It was not what she had expected – finding her new friend standing in her house crying, holding an old baby blanket to her chest. "Why are you even here?" she asked, stepping into the house and slamming the door behind her.

Snow jumped as it crashed shut and she all at once realized what a sight she must be. Not the ideal way she'd wanted to greet her daughter. Then again, nothing about this situation was ideal. Hastily, she rolled the blanket up around her wrists and tossed it back on top of the pile. "Me? Well," she fumbled. Lord, why was she suddenly shaking? "I live here," she forced a chuckle, wiping her eyes and running her sleeve across her nose.

Emma's eyes narrowed, "Yyyyyyeah but…weren't you s'posed to be meeting David?"

Snow stared at her blankly for a moment, and then remembered. "Oh! Right…umm…" she scrambled, feeling quite the fool, for she had completely forgotten she'd told Emma about her…rendezvous. She was trying to think up an answer when—

"He _didn't_!" came Emma's icy tone. Snow looked up in surprise.

"What?"

Emma's hands went to her hips and she stared her friend down incredulously. "That bastard," she spat, shaking her head. "He backed out on you didn't he?"

"W-whadyou mean?" she stammered.

Leaving one hand on her hip, Emma gestured up and down with the other as if appraising her. "Well, it's not even 10, you're _here_, David's _not _and you're crying over a baby blanket. You don't need a calculator to figure this out. He changed his mind didn't he?"

Snow's mouth hung open. She seemed to have lost all ability to form coherent words.

"Men!" cried the angry blonde, throwing her keys down on the table and shrugging off her blue motorcycle jacket. "_Why _are they all such _assholes_?"

She watched as Emma crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one leg. Snow froze, for in that moment…she looked just like James. "It's not…" she stepped forward, following her through the dining room, "it's not what you think—"

"Lemme guess," Emma flopped down into an easy chair, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward. "He thought it over and couldn't bear the thought of hurting his wife again."

"Well he's—"

"After having spent the last week and a half chasing _you _all over town saying how much he wants you."

"It's not that simple—"

"Bullshit!"

And somehow, the vulgarity in her daughter's voice gave Snow back her own. "Emma, it was _my _decision."

Emma started and glared in shock. "What?"

Snow sighed and perched herself on the armrest of the chair next to her daughter. "_I _told him to go back to his wife," she said with a sad smile. Technically it was the truth, however misleading. But she knew she must say something to avoid suspicion. She wouldn't dare reveal anything of their real identities without James here. And besides, the queen's curse apparently hadn't robbed her of mother's intuition. Something _else_ was bothering her daughter terribly.

"Why would you do that?" she cried.

"Because it was the right thing to do," Snow insisted. "H-he needed to give that life a chance."

Emma scoffed. "Didn't take much convincing, I see," she said flippantly, with no less indignation toward James in her voice than before.

"Emma, that's enough!" Snow startled both of them with her scolding and the two glared at each other in a sort of eerie silence as the denouncement hung uncomfortably in the air. She knew she had no right to yell. Emma certainly wasn't aware that she was criticizing her own father. But it was for this reason Snow did not regret snapping back. She would _not _have Emma thinking badly of James. "I said it was my decision," she said in a voice she hoped was a little less hostile. "Please…" she added, "please respect that."

Emma held her glare a moment more and then rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she mumbled. "It's your life."

Snow closed her eyes. This was most certainly _not _going well. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I um…I was just going to boil some water for some cocoa. Want some?"

She shook her head. "No thanks," she grunted. And before Snow could reply, she pushed herself off the couch and started pacing back and forth in the parlor. "You know who really bugs me?"

Snow stood up and retreated to the kitchen, pulling the kettle off the stove and bringing it to the faucet. "Who's that?"

"I mean _really _bugs me?"

"Who?"

"Regina," she said defiantly. "Regina Mills. Regina bugs the hell outta me!"

Snow stifled a laugh. She couldn't agree more. "I know what you mean," she muttered.

"I mean seriously, _what _is her deal?" Emma cried joining Mary Margaret in the kitchen and pulling up a stool on the opposite side of the island. "She's nasty, a complete control freak, she's got her hands—" Emma shook her own hands apart in a frenzied, almost psychotic spasm as she let out a biting laugh, "—in _everything_! In the entire time I've been here, I haven't met a single person who even _likes _her and yet, people keep voting her in as mayor!" She said the last bit directly at Mary Margaret who seemed determined to keep her eyes focused on the task of boiling water. "What is wrong with this town?"

Snow lit the burner and let the kettle fall on top of it with a soft clang. "I think it's a little more complicated than that."

Again, Emma let out a humorless laugh. "It must be, cuz I'm sure as hell missing _something_."

Snow sighed and placed her hands on the countertop between them. "What _happened_?"

Emma hesitated, trying to decide if she even wanted to get into it. Instinct told her to do as she had always done: to retreat and deal with it on her own. But there was something about this woman…something that made her _want _to talk about…things. Her mind flashed back to the first few days in Storybrooke when Mary Margaret showed up at the jail with Henry to bail her out. _I uh, I trust you_, she'd said in that tentative way she had about her. Staring across the island from her now, Emma decided to return that trust.

"You know Graham asked me to work tonight," she said, folding her arms across her chest again.

"Yeah?"

"Remember why?"

Snow squinted, glancing up at the ceiling and remembering, "Something about a…a shelter?"

"An animal shelter," she confirmed. "The doctor got _sick_," she said, emphasizing 'sick' in air quotes, "and he had to _feed the dogs_."

"Why are you using air quotes?"

"Because it's all crap!" Emma nearly shouted indignantly. "I was driving along in _his_ goddamn cop car and who do I see climbing out the back window of Regina's house?"

Snow closed her eyes.

"Graham!"

"Oh Emma…"

"Graham!" she repeated, her cheeks flushed in a rage, her eyes fiery and passionate. "He's _sleeping _with her! The _sheriff_ is sleeping with the _mayor_! I sure hope she's not into any corrupt shit around here cuz he sure as hell'll never arrest her for it!"

"Maybe it's not what you think," Snow tried, reaching for the kettle as it started to whistle.

Emma shot her a 'you've-got-to-be-kidding-me' look that so reminded Snow of her husband she nearly snorted. "It's _exactly _what I think. He made me work tonight so he could go shack up with Mayor Mills. And with _Henry _in the house too!"

Snow shook her head, wanting so badly to confide in her daughter what she knew, understanding instantly that the queen had not ceased the practice of selfishly using as playmates those whose hearts she'd captured. Her heart ached for the brave huntsman who, in sparing her life, surrendered his own to a cold, frigid–

"Bitch," Emma muttered, and Snow suppressed another grin.

Pulling two mugs down from the cupboards and reaching for her own special blend of powdered cocoa, Snow gave Emma's cup a generous amount, poured the water over it, plucked a full cinnamon stick out of the glass jar sitting on the window sill, stirred it and set it in front of her. "Did he say anything?" she asked. Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes as she swept her cup into her hands and took a generous gulp. Snow smiled inwardly as she raised her own mug to her lips; for though Emma had declined her earlier invitation, it seemed mother and daughter shared the same weakness: an inability to resist a good cup of cocoa.

"He _tried_," Emma answered as she slurped up another gulp.

Snow studied her daughter carefully. How strange it was sitting here, as they had many times before, and yet it felt like she was truly meeting Emma for the first time. As Mary Margaret, she remembered the sensation of feeling as if they'd met somewhere before. But it was nothing compared to the connection she felt now. How she longed to reach forward and pat her hand, or give her a hug. She didn't dare though. Not now. Not yet…

Emma let out a frustrated grunt, "She's so irresponsible! What if Henry had woken up? What if—"

"Are you sure this is about Regina?" Snow treaded carefully.

Emma paused with her cup inches away from her lips. "What?"

Snow leaned across the counter, propped up by her elbows and held her own mug in front of her face, peering over its rim. "I know how you feel about Regina," she conceded, inwardly agreeing with her…colorful assessment of Storybrooke's mayor. "But I doubt very much you'd be reacting this way if you'd caught her with…" she searched for the first innocuous name that came to mind, "with Archie."

Emma's face twisted in disgust. "Eww."

Snow laughed as she took a sip. "I'm just saying. I think this might be _more_ about the fact that…she was with _Graham_." For a moment, Emma didn't respond. She seemed to be thinking it over, as if the thought hadn't consciously occurred to her. Snow, meanwhile, felt a kind of private victory for having correctly sensed the connection between her daughter and the old huntsman. She had thought, even as Mary Margaret, that Emma had developed an especial fondness for the town sheriff. And there was nothing so revealing as a scandal to bring those feelings to light in a girl's heart.

"That's ridiculous," she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Is it?"

"Am I mad at Graham? Yes!" she said, this time with a little more defiance. "He lied to me and bribed me with donuts to get me to work late so he could screw around."

"Yes but _this_," she drew a kind of lazy circle in the air with her mug as if tracing Emma's entire aura, "is not the fury of a woman forced to work on her night off. This is…hurt. And believe me," she brought her cup back up to her lips, "I know hurt."

This confession, though cryptic, made Emma pause for a moment and she wondered, not for the first time, what sort of heartbreak had befallen poor Mary Margaret. _Something _had to be the cause of all that self-doubt and apprehension that pervaded her life. Tonight was a prime example: she had been so excited earlier to meet David at the toll bridge and then decided against it and sent him home? Emma decided not to question it though, for Mary was hitting brutally close to home right now, and she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to admit any more.

"Just _talk _to him, Emma," Snow soothed, reaching her hand across the counter, though not quite touching her daughter's. "Hear his side of it. I'm sure there's more to it than you know."

"Or care," she snapped, picking her cup off the counter and carrying it with her to her boxes.

Snow sighed and moved to join her, watching as she haphazardly tossed a few shirts and sweaters out of the way to retrieve a nightshirt. Snow knew she should back off, but instinct told her otherwise. "I think you _do _care."

"Yeah well, you're wrong," Emma muttered, not looking up.

"Am I?"

She whirled around. "And what if you're not?" She asked, finally. "What difference would it make even if I do have _feelings_ for Graham?" She used air quotes again and Snow resisted the urge to smirk. "He's obviously quite happy with his…slutty…skanky…politician!"

Snow should have laughed at this latest – and accurate – description of the queen, but the first part of her assessment demanded immediate correction. "Trust me, he's not."

"What?"

"He's not…happy."

"How would you know?"

"Because I _know _him, Emma," this time, Snow did reach out and touch her arm, urging her to stop fussing and listen. "I've known him for years."

"Yeah? He been at _this_ for years?"

Snow sighed. "You said it yourself. The mayor has her hands in…everything. She manipulates Graham just as she manipulates everyone else." Challenged with her own words, Emma had no response. And Snow took advantage of the break in the argument. "He's…" she searched for the right word, "he's _lost _Emma…just like you."

At that, Emma reeled back. "I'm _not_ lost."

"Closed off then," Snow amended hastily. Then she sighed. "You're such a strong woman," she began. "But you've built this wall up around you. You've been protecting yourself. Probably for your entire life." Emma sucked in a breath but didn't answer. Snow knew what she spoke was the truth and prayed that her daughter would heed her words rather than retreat. "When you came here though, when you started opening up to Henry, you started letting people in."

Emma's arms were crossed firmly over her chest now, but she didn't budge.

"And one of those people hurt you tonight. All I'm saying is it might not be what you think. But you won't know that if you shut yourself away again."

Snow's speech hung in the air and she again studied her daughter's beautiful but tough exterior. She could tell Emma was struggling, averse to the pain and complexity of _dealing_ with feelings as opposed to _avoiding_ them. Snow was practically holding her breath as Emma's gaze grew distant, far off…as if remembering something. Finally, she loosened her stiff posture and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Fine," she grumbled. "I'll talk to him."

Snow's heart swelled as she broke into a huge grin. Eventually she had to turn away to conceal the tears stinging her eyes, for though this was a monumental moment for Snow as a mother, it was little more than 'girl talk' for Emma.

"_Tomorrow_ though," Emma clarified, snatching up her nightshirt and turning toward the stairs. "Right now, I'm going to bed."

"Sounds like a plan," Snow grinned.

Emma gave her a strange, confused look, but smiled back…sort of. Retrieving her mug from the table, she climbed the first few stairs and stopped, turned on her heel and sighed. "Mary Margaret," she said.

Snow turned, "Yes?"

Then Emma closed her eyes…and _really _smiled. "Thanks."

Snow nodded and again choked back tears as she watched her daughter climb the stairs to the spare room. For several minutes she simply stood there, in the middle of the parlor with an empty cocoa mug, thanking the fates for granting her a second chance. She'd done it! She'd gotten through! What an incredible, yet surreal feeling it was to have strengthened that connection. To have achieved, if only for a moment, a very real and _familial_ bond with her daughter despite their closeness in age.

Her mind still buzzing with the events of the evening, Snow busied herself with tidying up the apartment, gathering Emma's things into…well, neat_er_ piles than before. It was nearly 1 in the morning before she'd tired herself out enough to turn off the lights and head up to bed. As she moved around the house, locking doors and dimming the lamps, she heard a soft chirp at her window sill. She glanced up and gasped. She had almost forgotten! The bluebird was back with three of its friends perched along the window's edge…and between their beaks (for they were each so tiny) they were propping up a small bouquet of purple Michaelmas daisies sprinkled with baby's breath. Snow broke into wide grin as she hurried over to the window and took the bouquet from her friends. "James," she whispered, patting the heads of her tiny blue messengers as she set the candy dish in front of them to feast on. Gathering the flowers close to her, she took a deep, healing breath and inhaled their sweet fragrance as she padded over to the kitchen to retrieve a vase. After spending a few minutes arranging them in water, Snow stepped back and smiled at the bouquet. Then, remembering her promise, she glanced up at the ceiling, to where their daughter slept, and whispered, "Sweet dreams, sweet girl…your father says 'goodnight.'"

*****Reactions to Chapter 3 were quite humbling. Thanks for all your support, reviews, favs and alerts! **

**Still to come – Snow, James, Henry…and reunions with old friends. **

**Hope you enjoyed this one. I'd never written Emma before, but her voice rang clear in my head as I wrote the scene. Working on new ideas for "Filling in the Blanks" but can't promise an update super soon. Stay tuned!*****


	5. It's all a haze

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Chapter 5 – ****It's all a haze**

The bluebirds chirped happily as James scrounged around in the kitchen searching for some sort of payment. He finally settled on the half-loaf of bread that had been tossed on top of the refrigerator. Retrieving it, he tore a few end pieces into morsels and held them out to his messengers, each nipping right out of his hand before bending in unison to pick up the bouquet.

"Remember," he whispered, "only if Emma's not around." Snow would have a hard time explaining it otherwise.

The birds hummed an assenting reply and were off. James sighed as he watched them fly (in perfect formation) out of sight, headed for 'Mary Margaret's' house. How he envied them in this moment, for they would get to see her, be close to her…while he was stuck pretending to be 'David' in a house that wasn't his with a wife not his own.

Still, Snow had been right to send him away, especially considering the risk he'd unknowingly taken earlier in confiding to 'Mayor Regina' that he'd chosen someone else. It would be a bit of leg work now, tricking the queen into believing that her precious status quo had been restored. Toward that end, however, he'd discovered that Abigail – or rather Kathryn – would probably come in handy. The two women _were_ after all…friends.

Convincing Kathryn that 'David' had had second thoughts and wanted to give it another try had been quite easy. This version of Abigail was far easier to please than her other-worldly counterpart. In fact, when forced to think objectively, 'Kathryn' was nothing _like _Abigail. Warm, pleasing, loving: everything a man waking-from-a-coma-having-been-cursed-into-forgetting-his-old-life needed to prevent him from asking any more questions. So when he'd shown up on her doorstep tonight and said he wasn't ready to give up on "them", Kathryn had been overjoyed and welcomed him back with open arms.

Now, in the dead of night, with Kathryn upstairs in bed, James – still fully clothed in jeans and this admittedly comfortable flannel material – was pacing the first floor, searching for clues or hints of the life he knew. Snow was right. It had been created for _him_. And he detected nothing of pretense in Kathryn's demeanor. So he had hoped to find something…_anything _of his world that might help them find their way back. So far, however, he'd had no luck. He felt as much a stranger in this house now as he did when he was just 'David'.

It wasn't long after Kathryn had retired for the night that the bluebirds arrived, pleasantly whistling a familiar tune he and Snow often had often sung to each other on evening walks through the kingdom. He was just pulling his head back through the window after sending them off with his floral reply when a voice startled him.

"What are you doing?"

James whirled around. Kathryn was standing in the kitchen, a pink terrycloth robe wrapped snuggly over her tee and sweatpants. "Uh, nothing."

She joined him by the sink, trying to peer past his shoulder. "Is there something…wrong?" she asked, searching the window curiously.

"It's nothing," he repeated. "A bird landed on the sill here, that's all."

"Oh!" Kathryn gasped and scooted closer. "Is he ok?" she cried, her voice full of worry.

James just stared at her, his mouth hanging open a bit, as he marveled at the sight of Kathryn – formerly the daughter of King _Midas_ – showing genuine concern for a bird. "Yeah, he's fine. Just flew away." He leaned his back against the edge of the sink, gripping the countertop behind him.

"Couldn't sleep?" Kathryn asked. He shook his head. "Me either," she said, shoving her hands in the pockets of her robe. "It's funny…" she trailed off, looking past him at nothing in particular.

"What is?"

"When you were gone, I got sort of…used to you not being here," she began, and James was again shocked to detect real feeling in her voice. She leveled her eyes at his, "Now that you're back, I almost…miss you more."

James shifted uncomfortably, maintaining a bit of distance between them. "Yeah…well…" he stammered, not quite sure what to say.

Kathryn continued for him. "It's just that…you still seem so far away."

He sighed. This was beginning to feel…mean. _Abigail _certainly wasn't deserving of sympathy, but _this_ woman so desperately wanted the life she'd been made to believe was hers. Her fate made him wonder again about the queen's curse. Was this her…_happy _ending? Having been so wretched in her old life, so full of the same kind of darkness that ruled the queen, had she been granted some sort of reward? A happy marriage as 'Kathryn' to her old betrothed as payment for the trouble Abigail stirred in their kingdom?

"Still," she said, sensing his awkwardness and seeming to wish him more at ease. "I'm glad you came back. Gives us another chance."

"Mmm hmm," he grunted.

Tentatively, she touched his arm and he tried hard not to tense it. "Would be a shame to throw all those years away."

Her tone was soft and soothing, and as he narrowed his gaze at her, he again had the sense that she was being completely sincere. He offered her a sort of half-smile, hoping that she would continue to read his discomfort as nothing more than the effects of amnesia – and then something she'd said struck him as odd.

"Kathryn—" he started, allowing her hand to remain on his arm.

"'Kathy'" she cut in.

His brow creased in confusion, "What?"

She hung her head sadly for a moment and then looked up. "You…you used to call me Kathy." She moved passed him and leaned back against the small corner created by the edge of the refrigerator and stove. "When we first met, I would talk about a mile a minute and you called me 'Chatty Kathy'." She smiled more to herself than to him as if reliving the memory. "It stuck for a long time but then…" she trailed off and James gaped as her eyes actually started to water. "Then we had another stupid argument and I told you I hated the name…and always had…and so y-you stopped using it." The memory – however false – was clearly real to her…and painful. James gulped and searched for something to say.

"What uh…what was the argument about?"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "My _father_," she said bitterly.

James clenched his fists tighter and sucked in a breath. "Your father?"

She nodded, "You'd turned down another offer and he was angry."

"What offer?"

"He was after you to join the company again. As a member of the board. And I was…" she hung her head again in shame, "I was trying to get you to agree."

"To join _your father's_ company," he repeated, his mind swimming. Kathryn's father certainly _sounded_ an awful lot like Abigail's as he thought bitterly of the _merger_ King Midas had once forced upon him. If they were indeed one and the same, where wasMidas in _this_ world? Why hadn't he been at his daughter's side during 'David's' recovery? But these were hardly clarifications Kathryn could make so he calmed himself and began again. "Ok then," he said. "Kathy." The woman broke into a wide grin and her eyes glistened with tears still unshed. James ignored this as he decided to proceed with his original question. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

He crossed his arms over his chest and wandered to the archway between kitchen and hall. "How long have we…known each other?"

The woman stared at him for a moment, blankly, and then continued to smile as she replied, "Oh years!"

"Years."

"Yes, years and years, God…it's been so long."

"Yes, but _how _long?"

Again, he was met with a blank stare, and the smile on her face turned a bit…plastic. "_Such_ a long time. As long as I can remember really…Yeah, it's all kind of a haze."

James stood glaring at her, searching for any sign she might be lying. But she seemed entirely guileless and her vacant expression sent an icy chill up his spine. "Ok…" he tried again, "and what about our wedding?"

"Our wedding!" she clasped her hands over her heart at once, bouncing up on her toes a bit as the warmth returned to her face and she smiled radiantly. "It was so beautiful, wasn't it? Do you want to see the pictures?"

But James dismissed her with a wave, "No I've seen the pictures. I'm just wondering…_when_ was our wedding?"

She stopped bouncing and her face once again fell expressionless. "When?"

"Yes, when? Like, what year?"

She looked downright vacuous as she replied, "Oh we've had a wonderful marriage. A nice long marriage. I know it hasn't seemed like it lately but, we've been happy…so happy…for so long." She shook her head and he saw sweat trickling down her forehead. "So long it's kind of a—"

"A haze?" he finished for her quickly, sensing her discomfort. Her face lit up once more and returned to its blithe and youthful state. James let out a tiny sigh of relief. It would not do to have her feeling uneasy and relate this rather oddquestioning to the queen.

"A haze!" she said excitedly. "Yes exactly! You too?"

He gave her a smile and tried to mimic her enthusiasm. "Yup, definitely a haze for me. I mean we've…we've been together so long, right?"

Without warning, Kathryn flew across the kitchen and slipped her arms around him in a fierce hug, burying her head in his chest. "Oh you're remembering!" she said, and the absurdity of this remark staggered him.

His arms were sort of frozen awkwardly away from her as she squeezed tightly to him. Then, with a shudder, he decided to return the hug, feeling it would be suspicious to do otherwise. Together they stood there in' David's' kitchen as Kathryn sobbed softly into his shirt. "You're remembering," she said again, "you're figuring things out."

"Yeah," he said. She had no idea how right she was. "Yeah I am."

...

"Be sure once you've completed section 1 to go back through and identify all the adjectives in the sentence," Miss Blanchard instructed her students as she passed out the worksheet she had prepared the night before. It seemed an age since she'd developed this lesson – in reality a mere hour or so before she'd left for the toll bridge to meet 'David' – so arriving at her classroom this morning had been more than a bit surreal as she was forced to truly see, for the first time, her students for what they really were. A tremendous sadness overwhelmed her as the haze continued to lift, and she realized that she had been teaching the same students…for 28 years: the children of her kingdom, offspring of her father's subjects. They had been unable to grow old, prevented from truly learning anything or experiencing the joy of living. Her heart broke every time she recognized one of them. There was the smith's boy, the miller's daughter, and a half dozen other children of palace staff and attendants – all in all she could only identify about half of them, but her heart ached for them all.

As they busied themselves with their work, gathering their little desks into small groups and scooting chairs together, her eyes inevitably fell on the one boy who chose to remain separate. The boy who, as far back as she could remember, had always been alone. Henry Mills. Her grandson.

As Mary Margaret, she had always felt for the boy, but as Snow it was all she could do not to weep for him. No wonder he had become obsessed with that book of fairy tales. No wonder he had voraciously searched the town for clues about its secrets, had stolen her credit card and hopped a bus to Boston to find their savior. He was the _only _boy in this school actually growing up! She could now remember the day Henry had transferred _into _her class. How strange it had seemed to her then for a child to be moving _up _from a previous grade…Snow shuddered. How awful it must have seemed to him – always asking questions to which no one had real answers. She watched as he worked quietly in his desk seated beside the row of shelves against the windows, yet seemingly undisturbed by his solitude. Her mind drifted back to her reunion with James by the bridge, and her heart filled with gratitude toward their grandson. How much did they owe him already? How many more people would his actions eventually help? With a few minutes left before the bell rang, Snow approached him with as much nonchalance as she could muster and stood by his desk.

"Hey Henry," she said, leaning up against the bookshelves and hoisting herself up to perch on top of them.

He looked up and instantly broke into a wide, toothy grin. "Hey Miss Blanchard," he replied.

Snow's eyes widened. His eyes…she'd never noticed it before, but his eyes…were crystal blue. "Are you um…understanding everything?"

Henry glanced down at his worksheet. "Oh yeah. Adjectives are real easy," he said casually.

Snow frowned. Of course adjectives were easy. She wondered how many _times _she'd taught adjectives to these children. An intense dislike for the rules of grammar shortly followed. "Good," she said, shaking it off. "Henry, I was wondering…if you could do me a favor."

This time Henry's head turned slowly, almost sneakily, and it startled her. It was almost as if the boy knew her favor would have nothing to do with these same old parts of speech. "Yyyeah?" he asked and she could tell he was suppressing a grin.

"Do you still have that book?"

His eyes brightened, "Of course!"

"Do you have it with you?"

At this, his look turned incredulous and Snow had to laugh. "I _always _have it with me. I can't leave it with –" he stopped himself and then looked back down at his desk. "I can't leave it at home."

Seeing his face fall, Snow was overwhelmed with the urge to envelop him in a big, protective hug – to tell him he would never have to go back to that…witch. The thought of it made her blood boil – her grandson under the care of one of the most dangerous, vindictive beings in all the realms. But she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. If there was one thing Regina had proven over the years, it was the lengths to which she would go to protect Henry. He was safe with her – Snow begrudgingly admitted – for now.

"Henry," she touched his shoulder. "Would you mind if I…had it back for a while?"

His looked up at her again, this time somewhat confused. "Wwwwell…" he thought for a moment. "Sure, I mean it _is _your book…" he trailed off, peering thoughtfully out the window.

She leaned forward a bit. "But?" she asked, sensing his doubt. And she knew why. Regina had made it more than clear a few weeks ago that she was tired of Archie indulging Henry in his fairy tale theory. Consequently, the boy had been a little more careful when mentioning it or bringing the book out in public.

"Well, you already woke up Prince Charming. Besides, don't you already _know _all the stories?" he asked warily.

She smiled. "Most of them. But I was…thinking about reading some of them in class and—"

"Miss Blanchard!" Henry hissed in a panic, "you can't read these to the _class_!"

Snow pulled back, "Why not?"

Hastily he looked around, as if making sure the coast was clear. "I haven't figured out who everyone is yet. If one of your students is someone's kid…someone _bad_—" he paused and whispered, "we don't want the queen knowing what we know."

Snow closed her eyes and smiled. Clever boy. Incredibly clever boy. "I understand Henry. I'll be careful. And I promise if I do decide to read them out loud," she pat his shoulder reassuringly, "I'll be sure to check with you first."

This seemed to convince her grandson, and he opened his backpack immediately, pulling out the thick volume of fairy tales, and handed it to his teacher. The bell rang and as the other kids rushed to grab their coats for recess, Henry stood and looked at the book sitting in her lap. He gave it a weird smirk, seemed to consider something, and then shrugged. "It's probably better off with you now anyway. Now that Emma's living with you, maybe she'll read more of it."

Again, Snow smiled. "Maybe she will."

Henry's look turned serious and Snow started as he quite unexpectedly placed his hand on top of her own. "Don't worry, Miss Blanchard," he assured her in a voice so much older and wiser than his age. "Emma'n I are gonna bring everyone back. We'll help you remember. We'll help _both _of you," he added with the most adorable wink. "You'll have your prince charming back soon."

And with that, the precocious little boy pulled on his coat and gloves and was bounding out of the classroom, leaving a – slightly stunned – and incredibly moved Snow White behind. Reverently, she turned the book over in her hands, smoothing her palm across the gold lettering embossed on the front: _Once Upon a Time_. Indeed, she thought. Once upon a time…before the queen enacted her curse, before all their hopes and dreams shattered down around them…

She carried it back to the desk and set about leafing through the pages. The last time she had looked at the book had been as Mary Margaret. So examining its effusive pages now was almost akin to reading a diary long forgotten. She had just reached the point of Snow White's meeting Prince Charming when—

"Good morning."

Snow jerked her head up at the door and then smiled. There he was. Prince Charming himself.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," he said with a grin as he weaved his way over to her through the students' desks and chairs.

"G'morning," she replied as he reached her, and she slipped her hand in his with ease.

James leaned against the front of her desk facing her chair and tossed his jacket on the activity table behind them. "What's that?" he asked, eyeing the book.

Snow grinned. "A story," she said cryptically.

James stretched his neck to one side, straining to read it right side up. "About what?"

"Us." He looked up at her curiously as she shifted the book's orientation on the table and scooted her chair to match his angle. "See?" she flipped through a few pages and revealed a beautiful rendering of Snow and Charming staring at each other across the troll bridge. Snow ran her finger down the page and stopped right beneath a line. "Look."

James squinted and read the line: _I told you I have a name…it's James_. He gaped at the pages. "That's…that's us," he said, rather dimly.

Snow's hand came to rest on top of his. "It's what I was reading to you when you woke up."

He looked at her and sighed, reaching up to caress her cheek. God she was beautiful. This secret identity thing was going to be hell. "How's Emma?" he asked, letting his hand drop again.

She grinned. "Good I think. She had a…rough night at work but when she got home we talked for a while and we…"

"What?"

She beamed at him and her eyes glistened. "Nothing we just…we _talked_."

James smiled back, understanding. For the first time since Snow had kissed baby Emma goodbye, she'd been able to speak with her daughter.

Determined not to succumb to maternal blubbering, Snow straightened up and gave her husband a mischievous grin. "How's Kathryn?"

James rolled his eyes and leaned back. "You mean _Kathy_?"

Her brow creased, "Kathy?"

He took a deep breath, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he related the story of his conversation in the kitchen. "It was the eeriest thing I've ever seen Snow," he said as he finished. "She couldn't tell me a _thing _about where we'd met, how long we'd known each other, _when _we even got married? But she had, down to the smallest detail, an entire account of this fight we'd had about her father's company."

Snow sighed. Her elbow propped upon the desk, she rested her chin on her palm. "That _is _eerie."

"And her answer every time?" James crossed his arms over his chest and glanced back at the door before continuing, "_Every _time I asked her how long it'd been or when we moved into that house? Her response was the same: 'It's all a haze.'"

"A haze?"

"Yes," James rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "A haze. And she'd say it with this really…" he glanced up at the ceiling, searching for the right word. "Almost glassy look on her face. Like she wasn't even there. And she never once seemed to realize that she'd been saying it _all _night."

Snow glanced worriedly at the door as well, and decided if they were to continue this discourse, it was best to be extra careful. She held up her hand, motioning for him to pause as she got up, crossed the room, and pulled the classroom door shut. Recess wouldn't be over for at least another twenty minutes. Once their privacy was assured, she returned to the desk.

"I talked to a few people on the way over here and it's the same with all of them. It's like everyone in Storybrooke has been programmed," he said, "with _just _enough history to carry on day-to-day but with no real…depth."

Snow wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her shoulders. "I wonder if _I _sounded like that."

He glanced over at her. "Probably," he said, though his tone was comforting. "But I'm sure it doesn't sound strange if everyone's in a haze at the same time."

She shook her head sadly. "And everybody is."

James hesitated to go on, for he could already see the lines of distress etched across her face. But he had to continue. She needed to know. "That's not the worst part though."

Her eyes widened and she squeezed her arms tighter. "It's not?"

"No," he frowned, stepping closer to her and settling against one of the students' desks in front of her. He sat on the desktop so their eyes were level. "If talking with Abigail proves anything, it's that this curse is…_incredibly _complex. It's unlike any magic, any spell I've ever seen or heard of. And believe me, I learned a great deal about magic when Thomas disappeared." He added this last bit and seemed to look past her, remembering the endless hours of interrogation spent in the mines trying to find the young prince after their failed attempt to break one of Rumpelstiltskin's contracts.

Knowing how guilty her husband had felt about that incident, Snow stepped toward him, standing in between his legs as he remained seated on the desktop. He gathered her hands in his own and massaged her palms with his thumbs, a small bit of comfort for both in the midst of such dim predictions. "Whatever sacrifice the queen must have made to bring this about," he continued, his eyes fixed on her hands, "had to have been truly heinous. She'll be beyond the point of redemption." His voice was grave and the austerity of his face made her tremble as he looked up at her and finished. "And this curse is so powerful, she can't possibly have enacted it on her own."

Snow clasped his hands tightly, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean she had help. Lots of it."

His wife reeled away from him, stepping back to the chalkboard, leaning up against it for support. "Help? No…we can't…you can't know that for sure."

"I'm sorry Snow, but the kind of power required to enact this much control for this long? Maintaining thousands of false memories and identities _and _exerting enough force at the edges of town to _keep _everyone here? There's no way the queen is _that_ powerful. _'Stiltskin_ isn't even that powerful."

Snow's head was swimming and she shook it vigorously. She knew their task would be great, but she had only ever imagined gathering enough forces to challenge the queen. If there were other villains involved…then that meant… "How will we even know where to begin?" she asked helplessly. "I mean, if that's true, we have _no _way of knowing who to trust."

"Or what any of them even look like," he added, pushing himself off the desk and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I mean _we_ have actually _seen_ the queen, Rumpelstiltskin, and Midas. But I've only ever _heard_ accounts of the Blind Witch and Ursula. I've only ever seen the court artist's rendering of Maleficent's dragon form at Philip's palace."

"So there may be dozens more of the queen's eyes around this town," she finished solemnly, hugging herself around the middle once more. "Oh James...where do we even start?"

He clasped her hands again and took a deep breath. "We start with who we _know. _Those we _do _recognize. If we can find Philip and Aurora, we'll be able to spot Maleficent—"

"If we wake Ella, we'll know her step mother," Snow agreed.

He moved closer to her and nodded. "And we just…we have to be very careful who we tell."

Snow was staring at the floor, her eyes darting back and forth as she thought it all through. Eventually her eyes fell on the storybook on her desk. She paused for a moment, as if coming to a definite decision, and then looked back to her husband. "We should tell Henry," she said.

James blinked. "Henry?"

She nodded with a suddenly confident look on her face as she returned to her desk. "Yes! He probably knows more than we do already. We need to tell him."

"Henry?" he repeated, following her. "What are you talking about?"

She picked up the book and clutched it to her chest. "Henry Mills! He's read all the stories. He'll know where to start. Besides," she added with a laugh, oblivious to her husband's increasing confusion, "he'll come in handy convincing his mother!" Her voice was filled with a renewed sense of purpose and excitement.

But James was far from convinced. "Snow, are you mad?" he said, pulling the book from her grasp. "Convincing his _mother_? Why would we want that? He's the _mayor's _kid!"

Snow just stared at him. "Well yes but he's also—" she stopped herself, for the look on his face said it all. She gasped and held her hand to her heart. "You don't know," she said in a whisper.

James shook his head, setting the book down again. "Know what?"

She took a deep breath. "James…Henry is adopted. Regina isn't his mother."

His eyes narrowed. "Who is?"

She placed her hand on his shoulder, steadying him against the shock and pain she knew she must cause him. "Emma."

His mouth fell open. "Emma?" he managed, his voice suddenly strained. She nodded, squeezing his shoulder tight. "_Our _Emma?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Which would make Henry…"

She brushed her other hand over his palm. "Your grandson." Beneath her touch, Snow felt her husband's entire body go numb. How she wished there had been a better way to prepare him, but such staggering news could never be dulled. He slumped down into one of the students' chairs, staring at the floor.

"My grand…my…she's a moth…she has a son?" Words at the moment were too limiting – a completely inadequate mode of expression for James as he tried to keep himself from falling apart. "She's a mother," he gasped as if there was suddenly a shortage of air in the room. "She's a mother and I didn't…I didn't even get to…to be…" he couldn't finish. It was too much. Everything Snow had felt last night by the bridge had finally, it seemed, dawned on her husband with the same intensity. They truly _had_ missed…_everything._

Snow knelt before him, squeezing his hands, willing herself to be strong for him. "He's a wonderful boy, James. He helped me save you."

"A grandson—"

"Who has your eyes," she took his face in her hands. "And your strength. He's the one who figured everything out. _He's _the one who brought Emma back to us."

At this, James looked up, his eyes full of tears. "H-he did?"

She nodded to the book. "He found her. Traveled to Boston by himself and brought her to Storybrooke. He's brilliant, James. Like you."

Tears streaked down his face now as he rested his forehead against hers. "Snow…" he whispered.

"We have a second chance with him, my darling. With _both _of them," she pulled back and forced him to look at her. "He _wants _to know us…to know _you_. You saw him at your party didn't you?"

His eyes darted to the left, remembering the boy with Emma. At the time 'David' been so fixated on the tough blonde deputy and why she seemed so familiar to him, that he hadn't given much thought to the child. Looking back now, a small laugh escaped him and he smiled. "He asked me…if I'd ever used a sword."

Snow beamed up at him, her own eyes misting a bit as she brushed the tears from his cheeks and stroked her fingers through his hair. Straightening up on her knees, she pulled him down for a kiss and then wrapped her arms around his neck.

Resting his chin on her shoulder, he clung to her, the shock finally subsiding and the ache in his heart eased by the warmth of her touch. There were so many questions he had now (not the least of which involved Henry's _father_) and he was about to ask them when he felt his wife go stiff in his arms. She gasped, for something behind them had caught her eye and he pulled away from her, turning to see what it was.

Though recess had not yet ended, the classroom door had been flung open and standing in the doorway, his gloved hand still gripping the doorknob…was Henry.

Snow and James were on their feet in an instant, Snow's hands clasped over her chest while James gripped the edge of the desk. The three of them stood there, no one knowing quite what to say. The boy had _clearly _seen enough, for Henry's jaw hung wide open as he remained frozen in the doorframe.

"H-henry," Snow finally managed, wringing her hands together, her eyes darting back and forth between her husband and grandson. "I um…we…" but she'd grown as unintelligible as James had been moments before.

They seemed destined to be stuck in this ridiculous staring contest forever, and then slowly, Henry removed his hand from the doorknob, let his backpack drop to the floor with a soft plash…and grinned. "You _remember_," he whispered fiercely, smiling from ear-to-ear. And before either prince or princess could reply, Henry sprinted across the classroom and threw himself into the arms…of his grandfather.

James sunk immediately to the floor and wrapped his arms around the boy. The embrace shocked him, but he hugged tightly, overwhelmed by the profound and _instant_ love he felt for his grandson. Tears welled up again in his eyes, and when he looked up at his wife over Henry's little shoulder, the joy in her own watery gaze was almost too much for Prince Charming to bear.

"I knew it!" Henry said with delighted frenzy. "I _knew _if she read to you…I knew if she woke you up…" he pulled away from James but kept his arms on his shoulders. "I _knew_ you'd figure it out!"

And James smiled, the same grin stretched across Henry's face mirrored on his own. "Yeah, Henry," he gave the boy's hair an affectionate tousle. "I remember."

*****Whew! That was a bear of a chapter to write. Lots of groundwork to lay. Hope you enjoyed it! Coming soon: More between Henry and his grandparents, plus an appearance by the newest set of parents in Storybrooke. Stay tuned and Happy Holidays! *****


	6. Fatherly Love

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Chapter 6 – Fatherly Love**

"So when I saw the scar on your chin, I _knew _it was you," Henry beamed proudly.

James smiled, looking down at him as the two of them tore into a couple hot dogs on the castle playground. Enduring an entire afternoon of classes was torture for poor Henry as he'd sat as his desk, his leg bouncing up and down excitedly, counting down the time until school was out. James had promised to come back after making an appearance at the bank where Kathryn worked. In the meantime, Snow had watched with great amusement as Henry checked the clock every forty seconds or so.

Deciding it was best not to be seen too much together in public, Snow had headed straight home after school leaving James and Henry to get better acquainted. Regina, according to her adopted son, worked until 5:00pm on Thursdays and would be waiting at her office for their weekly dinner-before-therapy outing. It seemed, James thought as he'd returned to the school that afternoon, that although Madame Mayor probably wished she could keep a very close eye on Henry, day-to-day maintenance of the dark curse necessitated her allowing him…rather a lot of freedom.

So Henry took James to the one place he knew they'd be able to talk freely: his castle. Seeing it, James tried not to let it show how much his heart sank at the sight of their home reduced to a child's jungle gym. The castle was obviously a favorite place of his grandson's and he was determined not to let his sadness show. Having bought lunch and settled down on the structure, Henry talked rapidly of the curse, the storybook, his trip to Boston…and his mom. "It'll be _great _to have you in on Operation Cobra!" he said happily.

"Cobra?"

"It's our codename. Me and Emma's. You know…our mission. To bring back the happy endings."

"Ah," James nodded, taking a bite out of his hot dog and chewing thoughtfully. _To bring back the happy endings: _a noble goal. And accurate, for that is—after all—exactly what had been restored to him and Snow. Their happy ending: awakened by true love's kiss. James glanced down at his grandson somewhat in awe of him. Could it really be that simple? "Why 'cobra'?" he asked.

"To throw her off."

"The queen?"

"Yeah. Cobra's got nothing to do with fairy tales."

James grinned. "I see…smart thinking."

This small compliment earned James another broad grin from the boy. "So how did you know?" Henry asked, swallowing another bite of his late lunch. "I mean, when did you figure it out? When I asked you about the sword?"

James laughed. "I think that's definitely where it started," he said and he related the story of the pawn shop, the unicorn mobile and the…well, a fairly modified version of events at the toll bridge.

"Brilliant," Henry muttered, more to himself than his grandfather. "That's what I've been missing!"

"What?"

"Proof! You saw something in the shop that belonged to your real world. There must be other things there too. Things people owned that will help them remember!"

James paused mid-bite. He honestly hadn't thought of it that way. "You know what? That could really work."

Henry crumpled up his wrapper and shoved it in his jacket pocket, pulling himself upright. "Come on then! Let's go check it out!"

"Wai—whoa now, hold on there Henry," James held his hand up, staying the boy in place. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Henry looked at him curiously, shook his head and shrugged. "Mr. Gold?"

Henry plopped back down again and studied James's face. "Oh," he hesitated, still looking puzzled.

James read his expression like a book, smiling to himself as he beheld a boy so clearly wanting to impress his grandfather with how much he knew, unwilling to admit that he was actually _not _aware of Mr. Gold's true identity. James polished off the last of his own lunch and then turned to level with him. "Henry, Mr. Gold is…well he's a really dangerous man."

"Mmm hmm?" said Henry, then finally giving in to curiosity, he came clean. "I…I haven't figured him out yet," he admitted, clearly embarrassed.

"That's ok, he doesn't look at all the way he does in your book anymore," James said at once, and this seemed to comfort Henry, who perked up and inched closer.

"So who is he?"

James sighed. It was really too much to ask of a ten-year-old. To share in the burden of undoing what was quite possibly the most intricate and deadly curse in any realm. To live with the knowledge that his town was even more dangerous than he already knew. But staring at him with that hopeful, eager expression on his face, Henry's enthusiasm was simply impossible to resist. Besides…James thought with a light twinge at his heart…sitting here confiding in Henry was the closest he'd felt to being a father since he'd placed Emma in the wardrobe…and sent her away.

"He's Rumpelstiltskin." He said it quietly, though there was no need, for the late autumn wind howled around them with an icy sting.

"No!" Henry's mouth fell open.

James nodded. "So if we walk in there together—"

"He might get suspicious and tell the queen!" Henry finished for him immediately.

James again broke into a wide (almost goofy) grin. The kid was quick. Very quick. "Well, I'm not sure how much _he _even knows about the queen but yeah…he'd get suspicious."

Henry screwed up his face in concentration, thinking on all the times he had seen Mr. Gold. A particular meeting popped into his head and he slapped his hand down on James's wrist. "That explains Cinderella!" he cried.

James started, "What?"

Henry swung his legs back and forth. "Cinderella. A few weeks ago, Emma and I helped this girl named Ashley and I figured out she must've been Cinderella. She had mean stepsisters and stuff so…" he shrugged, as if his methods of deduction needed no further explanation. "When we found her, she was trying to get away from Mr. Gold. He was…" he thought for a moment, for his own understanding of what _exactly _had gone on between his mom and the pawn broker was a little sketchy. "I think he…he wanted her baby, but—"

James inhaled sharply, but tried not to let his reaction frighten the boy. "Ella had her baby?"

Henry nodded. "Uh huh. A few weeks ago."

"And did Rumpl—uh, Gold…take it?"

At this, Henry broke into another toothy grin. "No," he said with a proud nod. "Emma fixed that. Made it so she could keep her."

James's head was spinning. This was practically as hard to process as learning he had a grandson. Ella had been brought into the curse still with child? Which meant she had spent the past 28 years pregnant? And more disturbing still was the fact that Emma had apparently spent an afternoon trying to find her and had … '_made it'_ so Ella could keep her baby. To what exactly his daughter had agreed to bring this about, James could only imagine. But knowing Rumpelstiltskin as he did…he knew it couldn't be good. Could Emma now be indebted to Rumpelstiltskin? The very thought of it made James's blood run cold, but he tried to temper himself for Henry's sake. "What about Thomas?" he asked quickly.

Henry frowned. "Thomas?"

The prince rolled his eyes, feeling stupid. "That's right, he wouldn't be 'Thomas' here. Was there um…have you seen anyone…a man…hanging around Ella?"

His grandson thought for a moment, revisiting his adventure with Emma in his mind. "Not that I saw, but when we went looking for her, we stopped at this guy Sean's house. I think I heard Ruby say it was her boyfriend."

James's heart began to race. If this Sean was indeed Thomas, alive and well in Storybrooke, and Ella was able to keep her baby…perhaps the two of them were closer to their happy ending than they knew. And if they could wake Thomas and Ella—

"Did you know them?" Henry's curiosity was peaked. His grandparents' awakening was, at last, solid proof that he was right about the curse: his town was populated with fairy tale characters who had no memory of being the legends everyone grew up with. But it hadn't actually occurred to Henry that all these people might have _known_ each other, been _friends _even. The thought intrigued him. And after weeks of being the one who had to explain everything, he was thrilled to be on the receiving end of such fascinating tidbits.

James looked down. "Yes," he sighed and glanced behind them at the sea crashing violently into the shores of what was once their beautiful summer palace. "Yes I knew them well. They were…very good friends of ours."

Henry slapped his palms against his thighs and sprung to his feet once more. "What are we waiting for then? Let's go get Emma and then find Cinderella and tell them—"

"Hang on a minute Henry," he laughed again, but this time he stood up too. "_We _can't do anything yet. You've gotta get to the mayor's office and keep your appointment. Otherwise—"

"She'll flip out, I know," Henry finished, suddenly dejected. "Do I hafta go back there?" he asked, his voice suddenly pleading.

Instantly, James crouched down to his level. "Hey, listen to me," he said, their eyes locked. "I don't want you _ever _feeling like you have to do something you don't want to do." It was vital that his grandson understand him on this point. For what James must ask of him now pained him a great deal, but he knew it could not be helped. "If I could take you home with me right now, I would Henry."

Henry stared at his shoes, nodding but not saying anything. It was difficult for the ten-year-old to hide his disappointment. He had almost convinced himself that his own nightmare might really be over…almost.

"But you have to ask yourself what's best for…for Operation Cobra." The boy looked up, a little glimmer returning to his eye. "If you weren't on the _inside_, Henry, we wouldn't even be here. We need more…uh…more—"

"Intell!" Henry cried out suddenly, his grin fully restored. "Got it. Don't want the queen to find out before we're ready."

James smiled, and then thought of something else. "And…" he hesitated, searching for the right words, "I think you should hold off on telling Emma for now."

At this, he reeled back. "What? But she's your—I mean," he stammered, for this made no tactical sense to him. "Why?"

"Well," he began, mindful of the very fragile state this boy was actually in despite his self-assured exterior. It would devastate Henry if James in any way implied that Emma had simply been humoring her son, indulging him in this fairy tale 'theory' for the sake of maintaining their relationship. And he wouldn't disrupt that bond for anything in the world. So he chose his words carefully. "Emma's…kind of…she's…" he took a deep breath. "You told me how she reacted when she met _you _right?" He nodded. "Well just think of how she'll react to _us _Henry. Her parents. She's lived her whole life thinking we…" he trailed off, shuddering at the thought. "She thinks we abandoned her." He looked up again and put his hand on his shoulder. "It'll be a lot for her to take, you know? Having to openly accept that she has parents again?" The explanation was a little esoteric for a ten-year-old to grasp, but he'd learned in a very short visit that his grandson was indeed, brilliant.

And sure enough, understanding slowly dawned in his young face. "Yeah…you're probably right. I don't think she even _really_ sees me as her son yet. She's not ready."

James watched him in admiration, marveling at the wisdom in his young eyes. "Good man," he said, ruffling his hair. "Come on…we better get back."

They climbed off the castle, dropping to the sand with a cushioned plop and headed back toward town. Before they drew too close to the road however, Henry surprised him by grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. James stopped and turned to him. The boy looked up into his eyes, holding back one last question.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking back and forth between his face and their clasped hands.

Henry bit his bottom lip and then asked, "What uh…what should I call you?"

The dull ache that had been residing in James's heart – ever since he'd been forced to leave Snow last night – twisted sharply in his chest. Once more, he crouched down to him. "Well, for now I think we better—"

"Oh I'll still call you Mr. Nolan," he quickly clarified. "With…you know with other people around but…" he trailed off again.

James smiled. "What do you want to call me, Henry?"

"Well," his expression turned contemplative, as if he was considering some important investment options. "You're too young to be 'grandpa'," he stated matter-of-factly. James chuckled. After a few more pensive moments, Henry at last seemed to come to a decision and nodded. "How 'bout 'Pops'?"

James gave his hand a squeeze and then tugged the lapels of Henry's jacket firmly around his grandson's shoulders, his heart swelling with fatherly pride and love. "'Pops' it is."

…

Though Mary Margaret had offered her some very good advice last evening, a rocky night's sleep and three cups of coffee had returned Emma to her previously harried state regarding Graham. She wasn't at all interested in talking over what she had seen and by late afternoon had convinced herself she didn't even care about his midnight clandestine activities. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was in a blatant state of denial. And if made to look at it objectively, Mary had certainly forced her to at least consider the possibility that her reaction was indeed motivated not by disgust…but by jealousy. Emma, however, was hardly an objective person, and as she turned down Main Street and sped past Granny's toward the coast, a nice long 'chat' with Graham was the furthest thing from her mind.

She took a sharp turn at the head of the square, and when her tires screeched, she ignored the glares and jeers cast her way as she sped up the parkway. _I should just quit_, she thought but then immediately dismissed it. She couldn't quit. She needed a job, needed to build roots…to stay near Henry. And like it or not, this was actually the only job in town for which she was qualified. She certainly wouldn't be able to stand working in some coffee place or Ma and Pa convenience store. Driving around in a cop car exerting authority was pure _Emma_. And besides…it pissed off Regina.

She would, however, eventually have to face Graham, and she couldn't possibly have been looking forward to anything less as she sped along the road approaching Henry's castle. She had taken to spending time there even when he wasn't with her, for she had found the same degree of comfort and refuge on its shores as he had. She was actually wondering if Henry himself would be there, fully aware of his Thursday evening schedule, when she spotted him…with David.

She slammed on the breaks and pulled instantly up to the curb before she got too close. They were just far enough away and clearly too engrossed in their conversation to notice her. This didn't prevent her from ducking low behind the wheel as she watched them hop off the castle and start walking along the sand. What could they possibly be talking about? What was he even doing here? And why had Henry just run up and caught him by the hand? Envy of a different sort began to stir within her and she tried to ignore the sharp ache in her heart as she watched her son sharing some sort of confidence with this…stranger…and at _their _castle!

What in the world could they be talking about, she asked herself again. Was Henry spinning tales about curses and evil queens? Or worse, was he filling David's head with stories about being Prince Charming and this epic love he was supposed to have for Mary Margaret? That certainly wouldn't help the recent amnesiac get over his misplaced lust for Emma's new friend, nor would it keep him from messing with Mary's head as he had been for the past few weeks. No…this conversation with Henry could lead to no good, and she flung open the car door, ready to stalk right up to them. But as they reached the curb hand-in-hand, crossed at the light and halted on the other side, she watched David crouch down to her son…and hug him the way a father would. The image paralyzed her, and she stood by her open car door in a complete stupor as Henry skipped off toward his mother's office and David shoved his hands in his pockets watching him go. It wasn't until Henry was out of sight that David turned slowly from the street and retreated away from the square, presumably headed toward what Emma knew to be the direction of his home.

What…the hell…just happened? David had watched Henry leave the way a father stood at a bus stop, making sure his son got on ok. Just what was he trying to pull? Was it some trick? A way back into Mary Margaret's life through one of her students? Emma tried hard to believe these as plausible suppositions, but the look on David's face said otherwise. There was no artifice to it. Emma could detect no sign of ulterior motives or duplicity, (which was after all – as she had bragged to Henry – her 'superpower'). No, the look on this man's face was pure unadulterated affection, protection, love.

Emma's head was spinning. Why were David and Henry even talking in the first place? Two strangers separated by every conceivable factor – conversing as if they'd done so their entire lives? Why did they seem to share an almost instant connection? And why…in God's name…did the look on David's face strike her as eerily, almost frighteningly…_familiar_? She couldn't explain it, but neither could she shake the distinct impression that she had seen just such an expression before. That she had been witness once already to this fatherly love…and through David's very eyes. Reality forced her to reject immediately the voice in her head which was distinctly Henry's: _I found your father…Prince Charming…he's in the hospital in a coma. See the scar?_ Such fantasies simply weren't possible. _Your parents didn't leave you on the side of a freeway…that's just where you came through!_ No…just…not…possible. _Your parents were trying to save you from the curse…_and yet…

Complete and total nonsense, she thought abruptly, shaking her head and climbing back into the cop car. Now that David was retreating out of sight, she could think clearly. Sighing in relief, she nearly laughed at herself and made a mental note to keep a close watch on Nolan. The car was still running, so she shoved it into drive, gave her head a healthy shake, and sped away.

It took her a few minutes to remember what she'd been obsessing over before she'd stopped by the castle. But she soon spotted the sheriff's ride and remembered immediately. Ironically enough, the scene with David and Henry left her feeling oddly prepared to face this particular challenge head on. So as the sun began to settle and Graham pulled his car into the diner, Emma followed soon after – determined to resolve at least one of her issues before the day's end.

*****Thanks so much for all the reviews in the past few days, and over a holiday weekend too! Thanks to all who favorited and/or subscribed recently. Hope you're enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Props to JuliaAurelia for correctly guessing where we're headed next. Working on introducing Sean and Ashley into the mix…and of course, more James, Snow, Emma, Henry and a few new people along the way. Ain't Christmas Break grand?*****


	7. Old friends who've just met

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Chapter 7 – Old friends who've just met**

"It killed me to have to send him back there," James sighed, shaking his head as he cradled the phone against his shoulder while leafing through another elaborately concocted photo album of lies.

Even over the phone, Snow's voice was warm and comforting. "You made the right decision. He's actually in more danger when he's with us than with her right now. We can't take him away unless—"

"Unless we're ready, I know." He nodded and agreed; that didn't mean he had to _like _it. With a thud, he set the book back on the coffee table and settled into Kathryn's overly plush couch. "He's really something, Snow." He could almost hear her smile.

"He really is. Wonderful boy, and so smart."

"I mean talking to him, I felt like…I mean it was almost as if…" he trailed off, unable to finish.

"I know, darling," Snow whispered, needing no further explanation, for she felt the same way.

"You were right about how much he knows too. Did you know that Ella had her baby?"

"…What?"

"Yeah, Henry said he and Emma found her a few weeks ago. Took her to the hospital." Something clattered on the other line and James heard a muffled gasp. "Snow? Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine." Her pitch was slightly higher than it had been. "The phone slipped out of my hand. I…I can't believe I didn't realize—"

"Realize what?"

"Ella!" she cried. "Her name's Ashley here. And Emma _did_ tell me all about her encounter with Gold and the baby and…oh James, I didn't even put it together until now!"

"It's ok Snow—"

"No it's not! As Mary Margaret I never really even _spoke_ with Ashley. I ordered cocoa from her a few times when she'd occasionally work out front at Granny's, but I never…Oh how _could_ I?"

James leaned forward on the couch, adjusting the phone so he was sure he was speaking to her as clearly as possible. "Snow, listen to me. It's not you, it's the queen. Ella is one of your dearest friends. It makes sense that the curse would remove you as far away from your closest friends as possible. She put _me_ in a _coma_ for God's sakes."

He heard her sigh. "I know…it's just…" James waited patiently for her to continue. "All day I was watching people as they'd walk by on the street, saying hi to folks I've been talking to for _years_ but never recognized. And every time I realize who this or that person used to be, I feel like…like I failed them."

"You haven't failed anyone."

"I know but it still feels that way. Do you know Geppetto is the town mechanic?"

"Geppetto?" James flew to his feet. "You found Geppetto?"

"On my way home from school. His name's Marco Collodi here. I saw him walk into the hardware store." She paused and James could tell, even over the phone, that her face twisted in anguish. "He's fixed my car I don't know how many times, James…and I didn't…I never once even thought…"

He hated this: stuck here in a stranger's house miles away from his beloved while she suffered the pain and guilt of a princess grieving for her people. "Snow you can't keep doing this to yourself. There was nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us could do."

The line was silent for a few moments. And then…"I _hate_ her," she whispered suddenly, and James sucked in a breath. "I swear to God, James—"

"I know—"

"If we can't stop her—"

"We will."

"I mean if she _ever_—"

"Snow?" he said firmly, yet still soothing. "We _will_," he said again.

At last, the tension eased from her voice. "Ok." she said.

And James sighed in relief. Snow's furor had a tendency to get the better of her. In the comforts of their old home, cradled within the chambers of their summer palace, James's steadiness always had a way of tempering her frustrations, her grievances. How he wished he could steady her now, place a comforting hand over hers and still all her worries (not to mention assuage a few of his own).

"One day at a time, Snow," he said.

"I know," she said and her voice continued to soften.

James was about to shift the conversation again when he heard the thump of a car door outside. "Hold on a minute," he muttered and hurried down the hallway to the front room. He figured it would be Kathryn returning from market, so it was quite a shock for James when he peered through the crack in the curtain…and saw the queen herself coming up the drive. "Snow I have to go. The…there's someone here." It would do no good to have her worrying all night about this latest development.

"I love you," Snow said hastily.

A loud rapping sounded at the door. "I love you," he replied, drawing strength from the very words. They hung up; James drew a deep breath and opened the door.

Though he'd had a few moments to prepare himself, he was still quite shocked by the queen's altered appearance. Her hair, no longer pulled back by the stiff black netting she had so favored before, hung free and loose at her shoulders. And it wasn't as though he'd expected her to be dressed in miles of lavish, flowing of black satin, lace and tulle, but the sight of her in a modestly cut suit under a grey winter coat rendered her appearance quite…human…

_Almost_…Her eyes were still a steely grey, and her expression reflected no warmth. "Madame Mayor," he said, his eyes narrowed though still (he hoped) friendly.

"David," came her smoky voice as her lips curled into a winning smile. "I think after all that's happened, you can call me Regina."

James offered a small smile in return. "Of course…Regina. What can I do for you?"

"Well an invitation inside might be nice," she said with a smirk; her hand came to her hip as she rested her weight on that leg "Bit chilly out here."

He blinked a few times but recovered. "Right…right of course. Come in, sorry. Kathryn isn't…uh…" he moved backwards and Regina came inside, pulled off her black leather gloves, and stood in the front hallway. "She's not home."

"No but _you _are."

Again, his eyes narrowed. What game exactly was she playing now? "Yyyes. I am."

The queen made no reply; she merely stared at him with a grin.

"Is that a problem?"

Regina cast a sideways glace toward the living room and then past him to the dining room, reminding James of a lioness surveying her prey. "Well considering you were about ready to jump ship when I saw you last…" she offered, resting her eyes on him once more.

"Oh!" James's reaction this time was genuine. He had truly forgotten. "Right."

"But I see you've come back," she smiled and stepped closer to him. "Second thoughts?"

James resisted the urge to clench his teeth and maintained a rather harmless posture. "Something like that. I've uh…I've started to remember things."

"Really?" Regina's eyes brightened almost as much as Kathryn's had. "That's wonderful news."

"Well you know…little things," he clarified, not wanting to get himself caught in a twist of lies between his fake wife and her evil friend. "Most everything is still a…" he paused and leveled his eyes at her once more. "A haze," he said meaningfully. This particular word seemed to please the queen. Success, he thought.

"Well I'm sure everything will return in time. Now that you're," she moved past him, crossing her arms over her chest, "moving in the right direction."

"I'd like to think so," he said and his pulse started racing. This slow circling she was doing did nothing to lessen the impression she'd made of a huntress circling her kill. Did she know? Could she tell? Was there some part of the curse visible to only Regina that allowed her to see those who had awakened and those still under its spell? He really had no way of knowing, and fear gripped his heart as she continued to scan the house.

When she finally turned to him, however, her expression showed only relief. "Well then I think this is cause for celebration," she said, smiling. "I'd like to invite you and Kathryn to my house for dinner tomorrow evening, a formal welcome home."

James took a small step back. "Uh…didn't we just…do that?" he thought of that farce of a welcome home party for 'David'.

"Yes of course, but I think we both know you and Kathryn weren't really in a…great place then. Now that you've made the decision to stay, it seems only fitting to truly celebrate your return."

"Well umm…I don't know—"

"Please," she said, and her voice sounded almost…warm. "While you were…figuring things out, I spent a lot of time with Kathryn. She's been through a lot and…well I know what it would mean to her for the two of you to go out together and enjoy the company of good friends."

James's mouth fell open a bit as he stared in disbelief. Was the Evil Queen actually professing to care for someone else? Was that…compassion he found in her eyes? If this was a trick, it was perhaps the most elaborate deception he'd seen yet. Could it be that as Mayor Regina, the queen had found…a friend? "I will uh," he cleared his throat, "I will check with Kathryn—"

"I've already done that. Kathryn has already accepted my invitation. Of course," she added curtly, returning to the doorway as she pulled on her gloves, "she didn't want to speak for _you. _My son and I will expect you both at 6."

James's heart leapt into his throat and he swallowed hard. _Your _son? he thought angrily, but he controlled himself, and she was thankfully still facing the door while he unclenched his jaw and fists. Henry, he thought. Henry…at dinner…with the daughter of Midas and the Evil Queen. In a flash he was by the front door, pulling it open for her in a (slightly exaggerated) show of chivalry as he looked at her and said, "I'll be there."

…

Why was she shaking? It was a perfectly natural errand. A perfectly natural call for the local schoolteacher to make. The arrival of a new baby in any small town was justification enough for gestures of support and gifts from the community. The arrival of a new baby in Storybrooke? Well…though the rest of the town had yet to realize it, this particular event had not ever occurred here. So as Snow stood on the sidewalk of Barbarac Lane, holding tightly to a hastily assembled basket of sweets, blankets, children's storybooks and flowers, it was with an arsenal of explanations and excuses she was prepared to offer the woman inside who – for all intents and purposes – had no clue who Snow was. It was foolish, she admitted to herself. 'Brash' as James might call it. After all, she had no real plan except to hopefully be invited inside and to…well, to _talk_. But if one look at a child's mobile could jog the memory of her beloved prince, was it so naïve to hope that good company and conversation might jog the memory of her beloved friend? No, she thought defiantly. And with a renewed sense of purpose, she marched up the stone steps and rapped on the door.

Even from the tiny stoop outside, Snow could detect a bustle of activity within. There were dishes rattling and a child crying. A lock from the inside unlatched, the door swung open…and Ella stood in the frame behind the screen.

Lord, she looked so young. Still so young. Too young then and too young now to be dealing with the stresses of either world. Standing before her, Ella looked more to Snow the way she had when they had first met – before Snow had met James; before Ella had escaped the clutches of her step mother and sisters. Sweat and smudges on her cheeks, with just a bit of flour in her hair, the poor girl looked worked to death.

"Uh, hello," the girl said tentatively.

Snow gulped. "Hello, Miss…Boyd right?"

Ashley clutched the edge of the door. "That's right. May I help you?"

Snow broke into a huge grin. "Actually," she held the basket out in front of her, "I'm kind of…here to help you." Ella looked at her strangely but did not back away. "My name is Mary Margaret Blanchard. I teach at the elementary school?"

"Oh yes," she said with a very faint bit of recognition. "Umm," she looked down at the care package, chewing her bottom lip. She was about to reply when a loud wail pierced through their awkward introduction. Whipping her attention back and forth between her visitor and screaming baby, she rushed back into her house. "Umm, come in!" she called back.

Left on her own, Snow's eyes widened as she stepped into the tiny home. Immediately, she was saddened by what she saw. The place was, in a word…a mess. It was a ranch style house with a small living room to the right. But 'living' room was a bit of a misnomer. Between the ripped and tattered couch and tiny television stood a basinet and playpen. The couch itself was covered in piles of baby clothes, wet naps and assorted laundry, with one end of it having clearly been used recently for diaper changing. The dining room table seemed more like a home office space with stacks of bills and assorted paperwork strewn about. Ella seemed to have disappeared into a small hallway down which, Snow assumed, was the only bedroom. She could still hear the baby crying in the background, but another sound arrested her attention: that of a metal lid clinking violently atop a pot that had begun boiling over. Setting her basket down on a nearby chair, Snow rushed to the small kitchen and turned down the burner. She had grabbed a wooden spoon and was stirring the spaghetti noodles inside when Ella emerged from the hallway, holding a tiny bundle in her arms.

"Oh, thank you so much," she said in relief.

"Please, it's no trouble," Snow continued stirring.

Ashley shifted the baby to one shoulder and, with her free hand, opened the cupboard above the small refrigerator. "She's been crying _all _day. I haven't been able to get anything done."

Snow glanced up at a rather empty cupboard of canned goods and spotted Ella's intended target. "Here," she reached up for a jar of spaghetti sauce. "Let me get that."

A bit surprised, but grateful, Ashley stepped back again. "Thanks." Taking advantage of the extra help, she reached for a stray cloth on the counter, maneuvered it in between her baby and shoulder, and started to bounce. "Do you do this a lot?" she asked with a light chuckle, "come over to random people's houses and help them cook dinner?"

Snow smiled. "Only when they're having Italian."

Her friend laughed outright as the little girl coughed up a tiny bit of spittle and then cooed herself quiet. Ever so gently, she eased the baby away from her shoulder and into a cradle, marveling that the little tyke was finally, and blessedly asleep.

Snow was suddenly thankful for the impromptu need of a kitchen helper, for it afforded her a welcome distraction from the achingly beautiful baby girl before her. "What's her name?" she asked, searching through the tiny assortment of drawers and miniature pantries. She'd retrieved a small sauce pan and had emptied the sauce into it atop another burner.

"Alexandra," the young woman answered softly, swaying back and forth.

Snow paused. _Alexandra_…that was the name Thomas had wanted. "That's…" she cleared her throat, "that's beautiful." She glanced sideways at her old friend and cocked an eyebrow. "How did you come up with that?"

Ashley looked up and chuckled. "You know, I've actually been trying to figure that out. I really have no idea. It just…came to me."

Snow nodded, but didn't reply, fixing her eyes back on her work.

Confident that her baby was sleeping soundly, Ashley padded over to the living room and laid her down in the basinet. A wave of relief overcame her as she watched her little girl finally resting. Glancing back at the kitchen, she felt a surge of gratitude for this Mary Margaret. Upon her arrival, Ashley had immediately felt more at ease…less alone. She couldn't explain it, but this woman had brought calm to the house. Her daughter had certainly felt it. So it was with much regret that she turned and felt obligated to tell the woman that she needn't stay. After all, to take advantage of a stranger's kindness was the height of incivility. She'd learned that…somewhere. "Thank you so much," she said again. "For stepping in. But you really don't—"

Snow held her hand up at once. "I've got nowhere to be," she assured her friend. "Please," she pulled a chair from underneath the dining room table, indicating that the girl should sit. "Let me."

With another grateful smile, Ashley moved across the tiny living space, removed the pair of men's jeans lazily slung over the dining room chair and sat down. Lord, it felt _wonderful _to be off her feet. "I can't thank you enough."

"It's spaghetti," Snow said pointedly. "The best way to fake that I know what I'm doing in a kitchen."

Ashley laughed heartily at this and she leaned back into the chair. "That and macaroni and cheese," she added. Then she leaned forward immediately, "Don't tell Sean I said that. He's always very proud of himself when he makes it."

Snow paused mid-stir but didn't look up. She decided to feign ignorance. "Sean?" she asked.

"Oh! My uh…my boyfr—" Ashley hesitated, glancing back at the crib. _Boyfriend_ suddenly seemed such an inadequate term. "Alex's father," she said.

Snow nodded, turning the burner down to simmer when the sauce came to a healthy boil. She moved to the little archway between the kitchen and living room and leaned against the wall. "So is he umm," she chose her words carefully. "Does he…live here?"

Ashley looked up. "Oh yes, we moved here a few weeks ago. It was…all we could afford."

"I see," Snow folded her hands together and rested them against her skirt, trying to remember what she knew and had heard of these people as Mary Margaret. "Is he—"

"He used to live with his father," Ashley interrupted, her voice suddenly guarded and tense, "up on Mifflin Street."

"Mifflin st—"

"With all the _mansions_, yes. Where the mayor lives," she said curtly then seemed to realize she was snapping. She looked up at Mary Margaret's kindhearted gaze and softened. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

Snow shook her head, "No, _I'm_ sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's just that," the girl seemed unable to help herself. "He works so hard."

"Sean?"

"Yes. Mr. Collodi hired him part time at the auto shop, and he's working nights now at Garcon's."

Snow nodded, listening intently. Garcon's was a bar down at the edge of town. Folks in Storybrooke who couldn't afford the comforts and atmosphere of Granny's…well…those folks went to Garcon's.

"I don't know…" Ashley stammered, rising up out of the chair again as she began to pace. "I don't know what you may have heard about…about him—"

"Oh Ashley, I promise you, I'm not here to—"

"We weren't…together the whole time," she continued, the words flowing from her as if she had never had a soul to talk to before in her life, "He left— well…we split up when I got pregnant."

Snow closed her eyes. It was bad enough that the contract with Rumpelstiltskin had taken Thomas away against his will. But to be brought into the curse unmarried, 8 months along, having been _intentionally_ abandoned by Thomas's Storybrooke alter ego…Snow's hands curled tightly, fisting together bunches of her skirt. It was as if the queen had exerted an especial degree of malevolence toward her old friend.

"But when Alex was born," Ashley had moved to the basinet now, peering over its edge at her sleeping daughter, "he came back. He walked into my hospital room and told me that…that he'd never leave me again."

Snow joined her across the room. "He's one lucky man, Ashley," she said, resting her hand on Ella's shoulder. It was a risky gesture, she knew. But against all odds, the two women had fallen right into their old routine of shared confidences. So Snow decided that if she continued to act just as she had in their world, then perhaps it would bring 'Ashley' closer to remembering Ella in this one.

Ashley shook her head. "I'm not so sure. He's done everything right by us. He takes care of me and he loves her," she said, her gaze still fixed upon her baby girl. A tear trickled down her cheek and she turned toward her guest. "He's so _good, _Miss Blanchard," she sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "But it's not good enough…not for _him_."

"Him?"

"Sean's father."

"Oh," Snow whispered with a frown.

"When Sean told him he was going to…going to take care of me, Mr. Herman kicked him out of the house and cut him off entirely. Sean had to drop out of school because of me."

"Ashley—"

"And a few days after we moved here, he came to see me at Granny's and…and yelled at me for ruining his son's future."

Incredulous, Snow's brow creased. That certainly didn't _sound _like Thomas's father. King Christopher had prattled on for hours at the wedding breakfast about how thrilled he was to welcome Ella to the family, how much he looked forward to having grandchildren running amuck in the palace.

"Sean's stuck in this town because of me," Ashley finished, tears spilling freely now as she wrapped her arms around herself and resisted the heavy sobs that were sure to follow.

"Ashley you can't think that way."

"It's true—"

"No it's not," Snow said firmly, standing in front of her. How much she wanted to explain. How she longed to tell Ella what she knew – that it wasn't Ella keeping them here at all. That it had nothing to do with her or Sean or Mr. Herman. That it was the queen. "Sean loves you and he loves your daughter," she said. "And true love doesn't come easy in this town. Believe me."

The tone in Mary Margaret's voice startled her, and Ashley looked up to see a little of her own sadness reflected in the eyes of her new friend. "I know, but—"

"No. No but's. Just look at this beautiful girl." Snow put her arms around Ella's shoulders as they both looked down at Alex. Forcing the longing out of her own voice, Snow remained strong for her friend. "And she's yours. Both of yours. What more could Sean want?" The conviction in her voice was unshakable for Snow knew she spoke the truth. Ella had been _everything_ to Thomas; there wasn't a doubt in her mind that the same was true for 'Sean'.

Ashley let out a weak laugh and brushed the remaining tears from her face, shaking her head. "I know. And I love him so much. I just wish…" she turned to face her. "I wish his father could accept it. Could accept his decision. Sean used to talk to me about him all the time. The two of them were so close…especially after his mother died. He had all these dreams for him. Sending him to school, taking over the company…and then…and then I came along and…" she trailed off, knowing she need go no further.

Snow shook her head, the pieces of this incredibly complex puzzle continuing to fall into place as she decoded the information Ella had just unknowingly provided her. No wonder Sean and Ashley had not woken from the curse at the hospital. Ella's happy ending hadn't just been about finding Thomas. It had been about finding family. Their union had been a celebration of joy and bliss in King Christopher's court. But in Mr. Hernan's household, it had been the catalyst for disharmony, strain and separation. Ella had found happiness with Thomas not only in being loved as a wife…but as a daughter. Without that, she and Thomas were still stuck: reunited with each other, but forever grieving the loss of a father's love and support.

She looked down again at the sleeping girl, and while she ached for the feel of her own baby in her own arms, she resolved in that instant that _this _child would have a different fate. Emma had grown up in this harsh, cruel place. Alexandra…would _not_. "Ashley?" she said, and the force of her newfound resolution startled them both. Snow turned to Ella and placed her hands on her shoulders. "We are going to fix this."

Ashley blinked and stared up at her curiously. "W-what?"

"We're going to fix this," she repeated and practically stalked back over to the kitchen and set about the simple task of finishing dinner. "I'm going to finish this spaghetti, we're going to _eat_," she added with a smirk that caused Ella to giggle, "and then we're going to figure this thing out."

"Miss Blanchard—"

"_Mary Margaret_," she insisted, pulling the tall pot from the stove and pouring searing hot noodles into the colander in the sink. "Come on sit down. All these heavy burdens you've been carrying on your shoulders are wearing you down."

Ashley was about to object, but instead she laughed, giving in to Mary Margaret's infectious optimism. With a grin, she looked down at her still swollen belly. "Yeah, well the weight of it burns more calories."

Snow laughed and it was a joy to hear her being clever again. Ella always did have quite a wry sense of humor for one who had been so perpetually innocent. "Will Sean be home soon? Should we set a place?"

"You _really _don't have to do this. Honestly I—"

"I know, but I want to."

"_Why_ though?" The reality of their random meeting seemed to have finally dawned on Ashley and she shook her head. "I mean, really…why does all this matter to you? We're practically strangers."

Snow sighed, reaching for the sauce with a hot pad. "Because…" she said softly, "…because your story touched me." Ella looked confused but allowed her to continue as she sat on a small stool near the kitchen archway. Snow took a deep breath. "Emma Swan," she said, and Ella started at the name. "You met a few weeks ago right?"

"Yes! She showed up out of nowhere. She helped me escape—" but Ashley caught herself. "She helped me get to the hospital."

"That's right. Well she's my…new roommate. And she told me what you did. She told me how you took charge of your life and fought to keep your baby. And I was…I was incredibly moved." Snow was walking a dangerous line, she knew, even coming here. And she wasn't entirely sure she was articulating herself very well. Ella looked touched, but no less confused, and Snow still struggled to find the right words. She was about to give up all together…and then she gasped. Of course. It was obvious! The words she needed were right in front of her. And she _knew_ they were the right words…for she had spoken them before.

Setting down the utensils she was using, Snow leveled her gaze at her friend. "Do you have any idea what an inspiration you are?" Ella drew back and a small glimmer twinkled in her eye. Snow smiled, glancing at the sleeping baby across the room. "Your child, your reunion with T—Sean…is proof that _anyone…_can change her life."

Ashley gasped, amazed and…slightly perplexed by such heartfelt and _familiar_ sounding praise.

Snow patted her hand and finished. "I'm proud of you."

Ashley leaned forward. Her gaze on Mary Margaret was intense, focused, and she was overwhelmed by an incredible sense déjà vu. This woman before her…whomever she was…all at once, Ashley _knew _she could trust her. "I'm…sorry," she started warily, "are you _sure_ we haven't met before?"

Hope swelled in Snow's heart, but she remained calm. It was a small sort of victory. After all, the woman still believed herself to be Ashley. But that tiny instant of recognition proved they were not far from another happy ending in Storybrooke. Maintaining her composure, she smiled and resumed her dinner-making. "A few times at Granny's, that's all."

Ashley shook her head and sat back down. "Strange," she muttered.

"I agree," Snow said with a laugh as she mixed the sauce into the pan and readied a few plates. "Can't really explain it myself, but we've got way too much else to worry about now. Let's figure out how to get that girl's grandfather back into her life."

And with that, the two women set themselves down to a hearty meal, forming and re-forming bonds long lost…but never forgotten.

…

A long while later, Snow left the tiny home on Barbarac Lane with a full stomach and a strong constitution. Every time they inched another step closer to restoring their realm, she felt a little bit more like the old Snow White. The self-doubt and reticence that had so long plagued Mary Margaret was all but gone in the wake of her husband's love and her now renewed friendship with Ella. This was going to work. Whatever else the queen had in motion, whomever else the witch had conscripted to help enact the curse, it mattered not to Snow. For in that moment, she was reminded of her last words to the queen before they were whisked away to Storybrooke. _You're going to lose. I know that now. Good will always win._

Still smiling, she pulled out her keys and moved to open her car door. She was about to climb in when something in the distance caught her eye. It was dark in this part of town, hardly lit up like the houses surrounding the square, but she could still make out the vague shape of a man, slinking along the street. The pavement was luminous, casting an almost fantastical glow on the scene as it reflected the moon's rays in its freshly rained-on puddles. Cautiously, she emerged from behind the driver's side door and strained to get a closer look. The man was coming toward her now, but Snow did not move, for there was something familiar in this man's gait. Something she had seen…no…heard before. The rapid pattering of boots to gravel echoed in her head, and she gasped as he emerged like a wolf from the shadows and was suddenly right in front of her.

"Graham!" she gaped at the sight of him. His hair was wilder than usual and his normally kempt appearance looked disheveled and rumpled like he had been running all night. "Graham what happened?"

But the old sheriff just continued to pant, his eyes darting back and forth as if searching for something. "Did you see it?" he said at last, his voice desperate.

"See what?"

"The wolf!" he cried. He whipped his head around in all directions, never really looking at Snow.

Snow swallowed hard, reaching for him, trying to steady his wild and flailing arms. "Graham, look at me. Look at me! What happened?"

Graham wrenched his gaze from the streets around them and finally did look at her. But his reaction startled them both. For Graham gripped her shoulders tightly, running his eyes up and down her image. "_You,_" he whispered, though his tone was severe.

Snow let out another gasp. What _was _this? Why was Graham looking for a wolf? Why was he staring at her like that? Why—

She slapped her hand over her mouth and shrieked. Was he…remembering? "Easy," she tried to sooth him. "Calm down, just," she forced herself to take a deep breath for him, "calm down. Start from the beginning. What…happened."

But Graham shook his head, releasing her shoulders and staggering back. "I'm sorry…M-mary Margaret I…I don't know what…" still catching his breath, he ran his hands through his straggly hair and seemed about to continue when something else caught his eye. He looked past her, his eyes fusing to his target.

The glare was so intense that Snow too looked over her shoulder…and cried out at what she saw. A wolf. Just as she remembered him. One red eye…one grey. The huntsman's wolf. "Graham," she whispered, and she turned back to the man who once spared her life…but he was gone.

*****Okay…so mild apologies here because I got the new Zelda game for Christmas, so my attention has been a bit…uh…divided! But I finally got this chapter finished and polished. As always, thanks so much for the reviews, favs and alerts. Without your support, this story wouldn't even be happening, so you all owe yourselves some props! **

**Coming up, James braces himself for a rather interesting dinner, more of Henry and his grandparents, and Snow and Emma discuss Graham. Also, coming soon (but not **_**too **_**soon) a much anticipated discussion between James and Emma. Hope you continue to enjoy! **

**Happy End-of-2011!*****


	8. Making waves

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Chapter 8 – Making waves**

After driving around Storybrooke for about a half hour looking for the lost sheriff, Snow resigned herself to the fact that he simply did not want to be found and headed home. A hundred possibilities of how or why Graham seemed to have regained at least some of his identity occurred to her but they all led back to the same thing – Emma. Snow had advised her daughter to talk to him, and this…well this must be the result.

So when she rushed back to her house, she had hoped to find Emma home and waiting, perhaps even _wanting _to tell her about it. But Emma was not there. The house was locked up, the rooms quiet, and that beat up yellow car of hers was not in the driveway. Snow's early evening reunion with Ella seemed so long ago now, and she tried to keep the optimism she'd felt upon leaving Barbarac Lane in her heart as she paced the living room, waiting for Emma to return. But there was no sign of her daughter, and a late night bluebird from James asking her to meet him at their bridge before school the next morning demanded that she get at least _some _sleep that night. So when it got to be 2am, and Emma still wasn't home, she turned in, enduring a little maternal uneasiness that her daughter had not yet returned. Still, as James would have probably reminded her, she had got along for more than two decades without a mother worrying at home. Wherever she was, Snow knew, Emma could take care of herself.

Early the next morning, Snow awoke to find Emma's car at last in the driveway. Hoping to gain at least a little information before she had to leave, she showered, dressed quickly and ran up to the spare room to see if her daughter was yet awake. But Emma was snoring soundly when she peaked her head in the door, and Snow just didn't have the heart to wake her sweet girl. No. She would have to wait. Time was short and if she was to make it to the bridge and back before school began, she needed to leave now.

A quick drive and a hasty jog through the familiar trees and leaves of what remained of their enchanted forest and Snow had arrived at the intended spot. Except that James was not there. She checked her watch. 6:30 on the dot. Where could he—

Strong arms caught her round the waist and she shrieked as she was swung into the air and then set down again by her prince. She barely had time to glimpse the handsome features of his face and the passion in his eyes before he claimed her for a kiss. It was a joy to be close to him again, and she relished in the feel of his body pressed up against hers as she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his embrace.

At last he pulled away, holding her back from him as he caught his breath. "Sorry," he said, grinning down at his wife. "Couldn't help myself."

She smiled with a light-hearted groan, tracing the outline of his jaw with the tips of her fingers. "Hiding in the trees, Prince Charming? Not exactly playing fair."

He touched the tip of her nose, an eyebrow raised in amusement. "I learned from the best, my dear."

Snow reached up and clasped his right hand in hers as she felt through his hair with her left. "Hard to believe that was nearly 30 years ago."

He nodded, sobering a bit and brushed a tendril of hair off her face. "How's Emma?"

Snow sighed. "I don't know. She wasn't home yet when I finally went to bed and was still asleep this morning when I left." She moved past him, wringing her hands together as she glanced up toward the town.

"What's wrong?"

She bit her bottom lip and turned to her husband. "James I think…I think something's happened."

She related the conversation she'd had with Emma that night about Graham as well as what she'd seen in the street after leaving Ella's. "He was frantic, James. I've never seen him like that. It was like he'd gone a little mad."

"And you_ saw _this wolf?" James asked, arms crossed contemplatively as he listened to this latest development.

She nodded. "It was the same one he used to travel with. The same one I saw the day I …the day I escaped." She shuddered at the memory, recalling her desperate flee from the man masquerading as one of her father's knights sent by the queen to kill her simply for—she shook her head. It wasn't worth dwelling on. "When I ran for cover that day, I stumbled over some snarled vines and saw him. He was staring at me – one red eye, one grey. And I knew the huntsman wasn't far behind."

James squeezed her hand, for he knew how much Snow disliked talking about this part of her past. They were practically married before she'd finally confessed the entirety of her history with the queen. Having to revisit that period now, James knew, was painful for her. "So the sheriff of Storybrooke is the queen's old huntsman," he said, fitting her hand into the crook of his arm and escorting her along the brook. "And you think he's starting to remember?"

"I'm sure of it. The way he looked at me?" Snow shook her head. "Something must have happened when he talked to Emma."

"Can we be sure it was Emma?"

She tugged on his arm and stopped so she was facing him. "No. But Emma's been the catalyst for all that has happened here. Her arrival set everything in motion. She may not be _aware _of it, but she's changing everything."

James nodded and they continued on their walk, mindful of each moment, for they knew time was precious. He told her of Regina's visit and subsequent invitation. She related all she had learned at 'Ashley's' and choked up a bit when she told him how beautiful and perfect little Alexandra was. All in all, it was a much-needed sharing of information, and both understood such updates were necessary. But as the ever watchful clock tower ticked closer and closer to 7:15 and it became impossible for Snow to linger any longer lest she be late for school and generate suspicion, their short time together seemed just that…short.

"Just…be careful," she said, practically gripping her husband's hand. "There's no telling what kind of power she has here, James. I don't want you walking into a trap."

"I know," he said gravely. "But I can't stand it that Henry is in there with her. I won't leave him alone in that house if I can help it."

His head hung low and Snow had to peer up into his eyes just to catch his gaze. She knew how scared he was for their grandson, how much it had pained him to send Henry away knowing the boy was returning to the queen. But the gravity of the situation didn't lessen the intense swell of love in her heart as she beheld her husband acting like the father he never had the chance to be. Tenderly, she reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand. "He'll be all right," she whispered, touching her forehead to his. "He has Emma…and he has _you_."

James heaved a heavy sigh and relaxed at her touch, slipping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. Even through the thick material of her pale blue coat, she still smelled of pine needles, wildflowers and cinnamon. Holding her now was a comfort and joy, the remnants of a life they once shared together…a life they hoped to have again soon. The clock tower chimed once more, alerting them, and James pulled back.

"You should go," he said a little more gruffly than he'd intended. Being here under the cover of their old bridge was risky…in more ways than one. "See what you can find out about the sheriff."

She nodded and kissed him goodbye. "I love you," she hugged him one last time, squeezing hard. "Be careful tonight."

"I will." He watched her race up the hill and out of sight, then turned in the direction of the rear path that led toward the pawn shop. He wanted to be there when Gold opened. He had some shopping to do.

…

It amazed James as he walked through the square, his new purchase tucked safely beneath his arm, how…normal it all looked. People lined the streets offering greetings and salutations, chattering busily about upcoming holiday preparations and the mundane goings-on of life in Storybrooke. Heading into the grocery store, clearly dressed as one of its clerks, James spotted Samson – their old chef. A few doors down, Aaron, one of the palace stable hands, was coming out of a drugstore. Perhaps he just hadn't noticed yesterday, but hearing Snow tear herself up over the fate of their people had made them impossible to ignore today. Who knows how many of them had stories just like Sean and Ashley: normal enough lives but without any real hope of lasting happiness. And though he knew in his head he was right to remind his wife that they couldn't possibly have prevented it, the guilt that came with being awake while everyone else still slept in the curse was acute.

"One day at a time," he muttered to himself, repeating the advice he'd given Snow to strengthen his own resolve now. With a deep breath, he continued toward the main plaza. Collodi's Auto Shop was a mere two blocks away from the school, so it was difficult to resist the temptation to drop by Storybrooke Elementary to see Snow and Henry. He was a man on a mission though, so as he held tightly to the box under his arm, passed up the school, and pushed his way inside the shop.

On the inside, Collodi's didn't look anything like one would expect of an auto shop. There was a service desk, to be sure. Light from a small office behind it shined warmly onto the gray countertop, and to the right stretched long hallway down which James could hear the clanking and clunking of bulky machinery and mechanisms he'd come to know as power tools. But to the left of the entrance way stood an assortment of objects stacked and cluttered along a series of hanging metal shelves. There were a half dozen mantle clocks, a few small televisions, what looked to be two halves of an elaborate crystal chandelier and about seven or eight different mechanical holiday decorations James had seen people setting up on their lawns. Each item had a bright orange tag tied to it revealing the name of its owner, and all were marked "for repair." Surveying the variety of objects on the shelves, James confidently gave his own box a gentle tap and turned toward the service desk.

Not long after Regina had left the night before, Kathryn had returned to the house and set about fixing dinner. Casually, he'd probed her for more information and quickly discovered that Marco Collodi – alias of their old palace craftsman – was not only the town mechanic but was also Storybrooke's resident "Mr. Fix-it". According to Kathryn, 'if you wanted something repaired, you took it to Collodi's.'

"Hello?" he called out softly.

"Just a moment!" he heard a familiar voice. The sounds of rummaging and shuffling of paperwork followed and at last, the old man emerged. "Welcome my friend," came that sage Italian voice. "How may I help you?"

James stared rather stupidly for a moment as he recovered from the sight of the wisest and most worldly man he'd ever known standing before him in a blue mechanic's jumpsuit. Covered in oil smudges from head to toe, the balding gentleman looked more wrinkled and worn than James had ever known him to be, and the ear-to-ear grin with which Geppetto always greeted even the most threatening foe was dulled and muted across Marco Collodi's face. Still, the man smiled warmly and not even the queen's curse could erase the blue-fairy twinkle from the tinkerer's eye.

"Mr. Collodi?" James thrust out his hand and gave Geppetto's a hardy shake.

The man shook his head, waving him off with his other hand. "Eh, no need for formalities here, my friend. Please," he drew his hand back at his chest, bowing his head ever so slightly, "call me Marco."

James nodded. "Marco it is," he glanced around. "I'm uh…I'm David. David Nolan."

Marco's eyes widened, his white bushy eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "Ah, yes. Storybrooke's resident John Doe. We have been reading about you in the _Daily Mirror_ of course."

James rolled his eyes. "Oh yes. All over the front page I'm afraid."

Marco chuckled, "Well can you blame them? I do believe your story is the most exciting thing to happen in Storybrooke in…well, many many years."

James's eyes narrowed as he studied his old confidant's face. Marco seemed to be lingering on this last point, his gaze distant. It was a look James had come to know well. It was the same one Kathryn had every time she tried to think back to a specific time in her past. The look of a cursed man trapped in his haze. In seconds, Geppetto snapped out of it and the glimmer returned to his eye. "I imagine you are tired of folks asking you what you remember."

James simply gaped. Geppetto…Marco…there was no difference. The man was as intuitive and sharp as a knife.

"So I will simply ask: what brings a local celebrity like you to my shop?"

James was about to reply when he was startled by a loud crash followed and a string of muffled profanities. He strained his neck around the counter, trying to make out what had happened down the hallway, but couldn't see a thing.

Marco, however, didn't budge; instead he sighed, rolled his eyes and leaned his head back, angled in the direction of the service center. "Leroy! We have customers here!" he shouted. The profanities ceased and the tools started up again without a word. Shaking his head, Marco drew his attention back to his guest. "My apologies."

James waved him off. "Not a problem—"

"Leroy is an excellent mechanic. But he has lousy people skills. Honestly, I'm twice as old as he is and only half as grumpy!"

James laughed outright. Yes, the man before him had definitely not changed one bit. "It's fine, really."

"Please. How can I help you."

James cleared his throat. "Well, I was told you were the man to see if I wanted something fixed."

Marco gestured to the shelves of orange-tagged items behind him. "You heard right, my friend."

Ever so gently, James took the box from under his arm and placed it on the counter. "I'm wondering if you might be able to do something about this."

Intrigued, Marco pulled open the flaps of the box and James looked on. He held his breath, knowing it was a long shot, but still hoping. With delicate hands, Marco reached in the box and slowly lifted out of it the glass unicorn mobile. "How…marvelous," the old man whispered. He held it by its center, a simple silver hook from which branched out four slender arms. As he continued to lift it, the thin white strands hanging from each arm unraveled and the gentle tinkling of clear and blue glass unicorns clinking together sounded like wind chimes hanging in the breeze. When he'd unfolded it in its entirety, he simply stood there, admiring its beauty. "This is exquisite. Such precision and detail."

James gulped. "Have you uh…have you ever seen anything like it?" Geppetto seemed to regard it most intently, that look returning to his face, and James knew he was trying to go back. Trying to remember. But in the end the man just shook his head and continued to stare in awe.

"No I don't believe so. This is definitely one of a kind," he swung it gently to the side so he could see and look at David. "I must say I have never seen finer craftsmanship."

James nodded slowly. "I agree. The man I commissioned to make it for me was the finest craftsman I've ever known."

Marco's eyes leveled with his. "An odd detail for an amnesiac to recall."

James smiled. Yes, he was as sharp as ever. "It was a very important gift."

"Indeed." The magic of the moment ebbed away and the mechanic's pragmatism returned to Marco's face. "Well, what seems to be the problem?"

James tilted the box toward him and withdrew two unicorns, one clear and one blue, from the bottom. "When I picked it up this morning, the man who sold it to me gave me these. Apparently it was broken when he…acquired it. The threads have been cut." He shuddered as he said it, remembering the trying morning he'd had, bartering the mobile away from Rumpelstiltskin. It wasn't so much that Mr. Gold was unwilling to sell, but he'd had to be very creative in explaining why 'David Nolan' wanted a baby's mobile to begin with. And when he'd finally made the sale, Gold withdrew the missing pieces from a locked drawer next to his cash register and handed them over with an eerie look in his eye. _"It came to me quite roughened up," _he'd said. _"Never could reattach these two."_ Quite roughened up, he thought. It amazed him suddenly that the mobile survived the curse at all.

"I see," said Marco, plucking the glass figures from his hand. He looked back and forth between the unicorns and the full unit. "Ah," he said spinning it slightly to shift the back arm to the front. "They belong here. If you please," he held the hook out to David, indicating that he should hold it.

James took the mobile and held it out for him as Geppetto reached in his breast pocket and pulled out his glasses. Then he squinted his eyes at the tiny horns of the broken figures and sighed. "Yes, this will be tricky. The strands are thin but of a strong material. This is not thread."

"It's not?"

"No," he continued to turn the figures over in his hands. "This is…some kind of wire. Whomever designed this made certain the figures could not simply be snapped off by a strong little tyke in a crib." He smiled at this last part as did his customer.

"As I said," James tried again meaningfully. "Quite the craftsman."

"Yes," Marco replied with a nod, taking the mobile from David's hands and folding it up within the box once more. "And the better the craftsman, the harder the repair."

James's face fell. "So there's nothing you can do?"

Marco raised an eyebrow and held up his finger in protest. "I did not say that my friend. I can have it for you within the week."

He smiled. "Fantastic."

Marco grinned, looking once more at the broken pieces before settling them in the box. Shaking his head, he muttered something in Italian and closed them inside as well. "Ingenious."

James braced his palms on the counter top and leveled his gaze. "Guess they were right about you."

"How's that?"

"You can fix anything."

"Ah well," he glanced back toward the shop. "It keeps me busy. I find that tire rotations and oil changes pay the bills but hold little joy for me. Besides," he tapped the box affectionately, "I am fascinated by the things people bring to me. I love to tinker." He took the box and placed it on a shelf behind the counter. "I fear it's a weakness of mine."

"Or a strength," James countered. "You're obviously good at it," he gestured back at the piles of orange-tagged items. "Fixing things that is," he paused a moment and then added, "But what about building them?"

Marco whipped around, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well," James took a step closer to the desk, his pulse quickening. "You're good at repair. Have you ever...built something from scratch?"

Marco nodded, understanding now, but sadly shook his head. "Oh I have often played with the idea of creating things like these," he said, filling out an orange tag for David's box. "It would certainly be more fun than tuning up engines."

"But?"

"Eh, I've dreamt up a few ideas over the years. But I am afraid I lack the ingenuity, son. The…cleverness required of a true craftsman."

James curled his hands into fists and fought the urge to scoff at such nonsense. _Geppetto? Lacking ingenuity_? He'd never heard anything so absurd. "Perhaps you just lack the right muse," he offered.

"Or the proper motivation," Marco added, though he said it more to himself. "I would have no reason to craft something as creative and amusing as a child's toy."

James's heart sank, his worse fears confirmed. This world…had no Pinnochio. He was about to reply when another thundering shatter sounded from within the workshop.

"_Mam_ma Mia, Leroy!" he shouted, rolling his eyes.

Shaking his head, James decided not to push it. "Well thank you for taking the job. I can tell you're in the middle of many projects here."

"Always happy to take one more," Marco said, coming around the front of the counter and shaking his hand.

He turned to leave but then remembered something. "Oh, one more thing," James started, "I was wondering about a young man I heard you have working here. You hired him a few weeks ago?"

Marco chuckled affectionately, dropping his hand and taking out a rag to clean his glasses. "Ah, yes. Young Sean."

"That's right, Sean Herman. Is he here?"

"He's out on a delivery right now. I finished repairing Marie's manger scene this morning."

"Marie?"

He laughed. "My apologies. The town affectionately calls her 'Granny' but I refuse to use such endearments with a woman my own age."

James's head was spinning; so many people…so many of his most trusted friends and advisors who were dear to him…so close by and yet so oblivious.

"He'll be back soon," Marco added, eyeing with a bit of caution the sudden distance in his customer's eyes.

James snapped out of it. "That's all right, maybe I'll—"

"Marco," came a hurried voice behind them. Both men jumped at the sound and turned to the entrance.

James froze, his mouth drying up instantly, for a beautiful blonde woman had just walked in the door.

"Miss Swan," Marco was saying. "Is everything all right?"

Emma too had halted upon entering, eyeing the younger of the two men warily. "Y-yeah," she started slowly, answering Marco but not taking her eyes off David. "I'm looking for Graham, have you seen him?"

"Not today, my dear. No."

James remained glued to his spot, not taking his eyes off of her. He knew he must look like an idiot, but he couldn't help himself. There she was. His daughter…his little girl.

"Ok well…" Emma finally wrenched her eyes over to the old man. "If you see him today, tell him to give the station a call." She gave David one more once-over and was gone as fast as she'd appeared.

Finally getting control of himself, James raced outside without another word to Geppetto and threw open the glass doors. "Emma wait!" he called out as he ran to catch up.

Emma paused at the corner, hesitated, and then turned to face him. "Mr. Nolan," she gave him a curt nod, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets.

James stopped several feet away from her, a little surprised by the chilly look in her eyes. The last time he'd seen her, she was at the party, smiling and friendly, almost supportive of his return home. "It's 'David'," he insisted, catching his breath.

"David," she replied. "What is it?"

"I was just uh…I was just wondering if you were…I mean you looked kind of upset in there," he fumbled. Lord, is this how Snow had felt the first time?

"It's nothing. My boss is missing. I'm just trying to find him."

"Anything I can do?"

"No," her reply came almost too quickly and she turned on her heals to walk away.

Something was wrong, James thought. She wasn't just uncomfortable or awkward. Why she was almost…_hostile_. "Emma," he called out and this time, his voice was steady and strong. She stopped in her tracks. "Is there something…bothering you?" he asked. Slowly, she turned back around as he finished. "About me?"

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, shifting her weight to one leg as she looked past him. She seemed to be considering something, weighing her options before she returned his gaze. "I saw you yesterday," she said finally, "with Henry."

"You did?"

"Yeah I headed up to the shore around 3 to see if he was there and I saw the two of you…at his castle."

James took a tentative step forward, unsure if he should feel panicked or intrigued. "That's right, he didn't want to take the bus home. Asked if I would walk with him to his mom's office and he…" he paused, unable to resist a small smile at the memory, "…he showed me a little more of Storybrooke." He shoved his hands in his own pockets and glanced around at the surrounding neighborhood. "I'm still kinda getting my bearings around here."

"I know," she said, her eyes boring into his. "That's what worries me."

"I'm sorry?"

She shook her head and sighed, again seeming to be deciding whether or not to continue. Instinct took over and she took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sure you've noticed by now that Henry has a pretty…wild imagination. I'm not sure what all he told you, but I imagine you heard some pretty…strange things."

"Like me being Prince Charming?" James countered, knowing the risk involved in such a reply. But he too was letting instinct take over and he felt strongly that he must stand his ground.

Emma's mouth hung open a bit, but then snapped it shut. "Among other things, yes."

"He might have mentioned it a few times."

Emma rolled her eyes. This was clearly _not _what she'd wanted to hear. "Look um," she stared at the pavement, her stance suddenly vulnerable as she shifted her weight back and forth. "I don't know if you know this but Henry is…well he's my—"

"He's your son," James said matter-of-factly, and it startled Emma for he had taken several steps closer.

She looked up and her eyes softened a tiny bit out of relief for not having to admit it herself. "So he told you that too."

"He talks about you a lot," he said warmly, trying to break through the iciness with which she so obviously shielded herself. "Cleared up a lot of things, you know. I didn't see any of Reginain him."

At the mention of their shared foe, Emma tensed up again and regained her stoic posture. "Yeah well, Regina is another story, but I'm more interested in the one he's been telling you."

"What do you mean?" James asked, listening intently.

Emma again hesitated. That strange sensation she'd felt when observing David with her son had not changed. He was as peculiar and oddly familiar to her now as he was yesterday. But it didn't quell the doubts that 28 years of abandonment, betrayal and sadness had buried inside her. She did not trust this man and yet, paradoxically, she felt as if she could level with him completely. "Look," she began, "Henry has a tendency to latch on to people he believes are the…well, the 'good guys' in his story."

She'd used air quotes on the word 'good' and James wasn't exactly sure he liked what that implied. "Ok?" he said, urging her to continue.

"He's obviously told you all about it. In his fantasy world, he thinks you're Prince Charming so he trusts you completely. He wouldn't have shown you his castle otherwise."

James stared at her in admiration. For a woman who – according to Snow – had no plans to officially claim Henry as her own, Emma knew her son…_very_ well.

"The thing is," she paused glancing around the street and stepping closer to ensure privacy, "I've seen what happens when people betray that trust. It just about destroys him, and it drives him to do some…pretty self-destructive things."

"Like climb into an abandoned mine?" he asked pointedly.

Emma eyed him closely. "He really _has_ told you everything, hasn't he?"

James flinched. There was…jealousy in her voice. "No I heard about that when I was still in the hospital," he explained quickly. "It was…well it was pretty big news around there."

Her expression didn't change. "Right."

James closed his eyes, ignoring the searing ache in his stomach. She thought he would _betray_ him? "Emma…I would _never _hurt Henry. You have to know that—"

"That's just it, I _don't _know that." She shifted uncomfortably for the distress in this man's eyes was getting to be more than she could take. "I don't know _you_. I don't know why you were even _at _Henry's school yesterday. And I have no idea what _really_ happened between you and Mary Margaret that night, except that she sent you _back_ to your wife—"

"Emma, that's not—"

"So if you're just humoring Henry so you can stay close to Mary Margaret—"

"Excuse me?" James nearly scoffed, stepping back from her as if her very words had physical force.

Startled by the pain and near outrage in his voice, Emma uncrossed her arms and shoved them back in her pockets. How did he affect her so? She'd made a career out of revealing the duplicity of others, oftentimes with far more volatile results than this. But the tremor in his voice was not that of a man caught in an act of deceit. It was the voice of a man who was genuine…guileless…and hurt. "I-I'm sorry," she mumbled. "Like I said, I don't know you—"

"No you don't," he cut-in, recovering himself from the blow of her words. "But you will," he said, holding her gaze. He took a deep breath, stealing himself against the immense sadness he felt staring at the hardened eyes of his daughter, realizing for the first time how much work it would take for him to win her trust. Forced to see things as she did, he understood her concerns. But that she had them in the first place was devastating. "You will, and I promise you, I…I could never hurt Henry…or you."

Emma's pulse was racing. She believed him…_Holy hell…_she _believed _him. _I found your father…he's in the hospital…I found your father…_She shook her head sharply, forcing Henry's voice from her mind. "Yeah well…" she stammered. "Don't worry about me. Just Henry."

James nodded. "Got it," he said. "I promise."

She narrowed her gaze a bit, searching one last time for any hint of perfidy. But she saw none, and finally, she nodded. "Well…good," she said lamely.

James didn't reply, but kept his eyes on her until she turned on her heel and walked back to her car. She opened the car door and was about to step in when he called out to her. "Emma!"

She turned. "Yeah?"

He froze. He had her attention and he so desperately wanted to leave her better assured…but what he wanted to tell her she would never believe. "Take care," he finished, weakly, "I'll…I'll see you around."

Emma didn't reply, but offered a perfunctory nod before she climbed in, slammed it into drive, and sped away.

***** So this isn't actually the Emma/James conversation I'd alluded to earlier. The characters kinda took this chapter over themselves! Hope you enjoyed.**

**Kudos to all of you who correctly identified the _Ever After_ and Rogers/Hammerstein references in the last chapter! We obviously all love the same fairy tale films! **

**Graham and Snow are up ahead, as well as Sean and a few more familiar faces in Storybrooke.**

**Winter hiatus ends in five days!*****


	9. Guess who's coming to dinner?

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

*****Not gonna lie…this was a rough one to write. But I think I finally got it right. And trust me…in the end…it will all make sense*****

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Guess who's coming to dinner?**

Snow had spent the better part of the morning trying to devise a plausible excuse for visiting the sheriff's office. The last time she'd barged into Emma's workplace, she was still fully 'Mary Margaret' and was pitifully seeking advice about meeting 'David'. So with a cheeky smirk, Graham simply allowed them the privacy required for such 'girl talk'. This situation, however, was much more delicate, and Snow felt strongly that she couldn't just march into the building and demand answers of either of them.

However, the day dragged on, and by lunch time, Snow still hadn't thought of a reasonable way in, _nor _did she have a clue what she might say when she did. She was actually considering asking Henry for help when the children returned from recess…when the sheriff himself walked in her door.

"Mary Margaret," came a frantic, Irish voice.

She spun around, nearly dropping the piles of folders she'd been re-filing in her cabinet. "Graham!" she cried, dropping the rest of her pile on a student's desk. "Oh Graham," she repeated, catching her breath. "You…you look awful."

It was true. Graham looked as if he hadn't slept in days and he was every bit, if not more so, disheveled as he had been last night. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles underneath and almost no color in his cheeks. "I'm…I'm sorry I startled you last night."

Snow shook her head immediately. "Don't worry about that. Here, sit down." Gently, she met him at the door and led him to a work table in the back of a classroom. "What happened, are you all right?"

He was staring blankly ahead of him. His eyes, in fact, looked as distant and far away as Ella's had, the same look her friend wore last night whenever Snow would try to discover more about her alias 'Ashley's' past. "I uh…" Graham stammered. He was panting heavily, though he did not seem out of breath. "I think we…I think we know each other."

Snow drew back from him. "Of course we do," she said cautiously, glancing between him and the open doorway.

"Not from here," Graham shook his head, "Not from Storybrooke."

Her heart pounded violently against her chest and she sucked in a breath. "From where then?" she tested him, eyeing him so closely now she could tell his lip was trembling and his eye twitching like a mad man's.

"Another life?" he said and finally, Graham met her gaze.

She gasped for in his eyes, she saw the wolf. Snow was right. Graham was remembering…_something_. But unlike James and herself, restoration of his memory was, for some reason, fragmented. He was confused, panicked. At this point, full revelation might only distress him further. Taking a deep breath, she resolved to be cautious. "Sit down, Graham," she ordered. There was no reason for him not to obey. She moved swiftly across the classroom, closed the door and _locked _it this time, assured somewhat of their privacy, and returned to the children's work table.

He was leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees, hands splayed open with his palms up as he explained. "I know it sounds crazy, but do you…" he glanced up at her as she sat down beside him, "…do you believe in…past lives?"

Snow drew another deep breath. "Yes," she said; her voice was steady but her pulse was not.

Her blunt reply startled him, but was oddly comforting and he shifted in the entirely-too-small-for-him chair to face her fully. "I've been having…having these…well, this one…dream," he began and then immediately shook his head. "But it's not really a dream, it's more like a…a…"

"A memory?"

He gave her another sharp look. "Yes…a memory."

"About what?"

He hesitated, searching Mary Margaret's innocent face, and gulped hard as the image of her face on the figure of another flashed before him. A woman with the same ebony hair only much longer, holding an apple out to him. Another flash. The same woman. Kneeling before him, weeping…but brave. Ready. Ready for him to strike—

"No," he shook his head, furiously. "Never mind, forget it. It's insane—"

"Graham," she touched his hand before he could stand up. "It's all right—"

"I shouldn't have said anything. It's not—"

"What if I told you," she tightened her grip on his wrist, forcing him to look at her, "that I've also been having…dreams." She knew she must still be cautious. He was, after all, the queen's huntsman and Snow had no way of knowing the pull she still had on him here. But this brave man before her once spared her life. Sacrificed himself, his future…for hers. She owed him.

"You…you have?"

"Yes…and not only that but …" again she hesitated, wishing suddenly for James by her side. He was a much better diplomat. "But everyone in Storybrooke is too. We're all…dreaming."

Graham stared at her for a moment in a deafening silence and then shook his head. "I don't know if that should make me feel better or worse."

She smiled and tugged a little on his arm. "Come here," she said, "let me show you something." She led him over to her desk in the far corner and, after pulling down the shades and glancing back, again, at the locked door, she unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. "Tell me about your dream," she said.

Graham leaned against the radiator by the window. He crossed his arms, suddenly incredulous, but Mary Margaret had not issued a request. It was an order. And for some strange reason, he felt obliged to obey. "Well I'm…I'm running."

"Where?"

"In the woods. Along the path behind Gold's shop." He closed his eyes, his voice growing more distant. "At first it…it seems like I'm being chased and then…" he opened his eyes and they fell on Mary Margaret, whose own eyes were glaring at him so intensely, he felt for a moment that he was back in his dream. "Then I realize I am the one doing the chasing." He stopped, but she only nodded. "I turn round a bend and I see…I see the wolf. The wolf, you remember? I was looking for it last night?"

"I remember. I saw it too."

This seemed to startle him more than anything else. "You _did_? You…you _did_ see it?"

"Yes, go on." She did not mean to rush him, but neither did she wish him to lose focus or become forgetful. He'd broken into a terrible sweat, and even from her position behind her desk chair, she could tell he was growing feverish.

He dropped his head. "Well…he's there in the dream. Standing on a path. And I know that…I know I need to follow him. He will lead me to…to the one I am hunting. I run alongside him and then I come across a clearing and I…I see…"

"Me."

Graham's head shot up. "Yes!" he hissed.

"And I'm sitting by a pond," Snow continued, eyeing him steadily despite his heightening agitation.

"Yes!" he cried again. _How was she doing this?_

"And you have a knife?" she asked, though he could tell it was not a question.

He nodded, the mentioning of the weapon overwhelming him with shame.

"And you move to strike. You intend to take my heart."

He was panting now, nearly hyperventilating, his knee bouncing up and down though he was barely still seated on the radiator. "Mary Margaret, how are you—"

"But you didn't strike, Graham."

His mouth hung open. "I…I what?"

She sighed and finally looked down at the bottom of the desk drawer and started rummaging again. "You didn't strike, Graham. You never did."

"I…" he wiped the sweat off his brow and sat back almost in…relief. "I didn't?"

"No. You spared me."

But this eerie clairvoyance she had had slid by long enough and the "Sheriff" part of him demanded answers. "What does that _mean_? How could even you possibly—"

"Tell me something," she interrupted, having found what she was seeking and stood up, clutching something heavy to her chest. "When Emma Swan first arrived here, you spent a good deal of time with her and Henry didn't you?" The change of tone and subject was abrupt but not entirely unwelcome. Snow thought she'd detected a slight twitch when she'd mentioned her daughter, but it was barely perceptible and Graham readily answered.

"Yes. We uh…well it was mostly Henry running away all the time. Emma and I were constantly lookin' for 'im."

She nodded, slowly circling the desk and then leaning up against the front of it. "In all that time, did you ever…overhear any of the things Henry has been saying about us? About Storybrooke?"

He glanced to the side, crossing his arms and then looking up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "Only a handful of gibberish here and there. Mostly about his mum being _evil_ but," he let out a weak chuckle, "he's ten. Lots 'o lads hate their mums."

"Anything else?"

He looked back at her and her face triggered something. "He was awfully sure about _you_," he said. "When we were out lookin' for 'John Doe'. Kept prattlin' on about how you were the one s'posed to save him."

Snow couldn't resist a small smile there, but kept her gaze fixed on Graham. "Yes he did, didn't he?"

"Turned out to be right about that one but," he shook his head, "really, I ignored most of it. I mean…he's a little…_off_ in't he? Isn't all that rubbish the reason the boy's in therapy?"

She sighed, affronted on behalf of her grandson though she could hardly blame the sheriff. She'd thought that way about Henry too…once. She held the book out in front of her so the title faced up, the edge of it pressed against her stomach. "Yes…that's true." She glanced up at him with sad, sympathetic eyes. "But that 'rubbish' is also why you're having dreams."

His eyes widened, and nervously he approached the desk, eyeing the book. "What…what do you mean?"

"Only they're _not _dreams, Graham," she said flatly, tilting the book so he could see the cover…_Once Upon a Time._ "You were right the first time…They're memories."

Graham's jaw dropped to the floor. "Are you…no…no you can't believe—"

"It's all true. Look," she said hastily, cracking open the book and flipping through pages. "Henry figured it out within days of reading it." She opened to an illustration of the queen, elegant and stately, in her black mourning gown. "See? That's Regina. And here," she flipped a few more pages. "There's Granny and Ruby." A few more, "And me." She laid her hand down on the page bearing the image of a very young Snow White, grieving at the recent loss of her father. She shuddered at the memory but was determined to stay focused on Graham. She looked up at him. "We're all in here. The whole town is part of _this_ world." She gave the book a little shake by the edges.

Graham's mouth still hung open as he gaped at the pages and then tentatively reached forward, almost as if afraid the book might bite his arm off if he touched it. "That's…you?" he peered at the drawing. "Who are you supposed to be?"

She took a deep breath. "Snow White," she whispered.

He repeated the name but only mouthing the words, not taking his eyes from the heartbreaking image of the girl. That face. He'd seen that tear-streaked face before. Slowly he turned to Mary Margaret and pleaded, "Who am _I_?"

Snow gave him a sad smile and gently slid his hand from the page with her own. A few more flips and she arrived at the gut-wrenching, agonizing truth. "You're the huntsman."

Graham nearly cried out, reeling back from the rather violent oil painting before him of a man holding a dagger above his head, poised to strike at Mary Marg—or—er—Snow White. The girl knelt before the feet of the knight, but she was arching her neck proudly, ready and willing to sacrifice herself. The knight was tall and menacing, and Graham hated the look of such violence on his own face. But what terrified him the most was not the man or the woman, but the figure between them. For lurking in the shadows, keeping a quite incongruously calm vigil over the scene, was the wolf. "No…I would never…I could never kill…"

"But you _didn't_," Snow reminded him, snapping the book shut, though keeping the place marked with her index finger. "As I said, you _spared_ me. You gave me the means to seek out the dwarfs' cottage and find refuge. Without you, Graham…I'd…I'd be dead."

But these reassurances had done little to mollify the poor sheriff. It was too much to take in. _So much _for a person to believe. A book? A storybook of fairy tales? A town living cursed under the control of an evil queen? It suddenly occurred to him just how much of Henry's fantasy he must have heard without realizing it, for the pieces were falling together in his head. Yet at the same time, it was all a bit preposterous wasn't it? Mary Margaret was Snow White? He was her huntsman? And Regina. Regina…an evil queen? Surely this was some joke. He knew he was feverish. Perhaps he was hallucinating. "No," he shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "No this can't be real."

"Think about it Graham," Snow leveled with him. "Try to remember something about your life here. Something about your past. When did you meet me?" He opened his mouth at once to reply…but then shut it. "When did you meet Regina? When did you come to Storybrooke? How'd you come to live here?"

"Well it was…I mean…you know years…and—"

"Years and years right? But you can't actually remember. It's all a _haze_?" He had no response. "That's _okay_," she insisted, reaching out to touch his arm. "I can't remember those things either. I have no past here…not as 'Mary Margaret' anyway…and neither do you."

"Why…w-why didn't you tell me? How long have _you_ known?"

"A few days."

"_How_? How'd you figure all this out? Who told _you_?"

At this, Snow hesitated. James had warned her to be careful how much she revealed to Graham. She knew she'd probably gone too far already, but she would _not_ give up her husband. Not with James heading over to Regina's house that very evening. "I…I don't know. I just…started putting things together. What about _you_?"

Graham shot her a worried look. "Me?"

"Yes, when did you start having the…'dream'?"

His hands came to his hips. He was pacing now. "I…it started yesterday."

"Is that when you first saw the wolf?"

"Yes."

Snow leaned forward. "Just…out of the blue?"

He stopped pacing and sighed. "No I uh…" he shook his head, staring at the floor. "I kissed Emma."

Snow flew to her feet. "You what?"

"I know, I know. It was totally unprofessional and—"

"You _kissed _Emma? That's what brought this on?" She knew she sounded rather hysterical but it confirmed so much. So far, she and James had been hoping that fixing enough happy endings would free their friends of the curse. But as the huntsman, Graham _had_ no happy ending they could have possibly restored. He'd lived a miserable existence deep within the queen's palace. If kissing Emma had woken the huntsman within him, even partially, that meant finding new happiness in Storybrooke could also save the town. People who _had _no happy endings in the old world could still find joy in _this _one. Graham's awakening foretold of hope for all. "Graham," she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the door. "I want you to go home and wait for me there."

"What?"

"Yes, go home," she paused and looked him over, "You look like _hell_, so get some rest, and after school I'm going to _find _Emma and then—"

"Mary Margaret," Graham snatched his hand away and stopped her. "If you think I'm going to just-just _sit _and do _nothing_—"

"I'm not asking you to do nothing. But you're in no condition to…you can't _handle_ this right now on your own and—"

"The hell I can't!" he said, male bravado taking over. "You've just told me that you and I knew each other in a past life—"

"Not a past life. Our _old _life—"

"Whatever! And Regina really _is_ this 'Evil Queen' Henry's been talking about, and she's got this whole bloody town under her control, and you want me to do nothing?"

"Graham," she took a deep breath, approaching him slowly. "If the queen finds out that you know something? Anything? She'll—" she hesitated, clenching her fists together nervously, "there's no telling what she'll do to you." To her surprise, he laughed bitterly.

"What she'll do to me? What _she _will do to me?" He brought both hands to his forehead and tugged backwards through his hair. "What more could she possibly do to me that she hasn't done already?"

"Graham—"

"You don't know what it's _like _with her. You don't know what I've already—"

"Graham please—"

"Did Emma tell you?" he reeled on her, almost accusing. "Emma told you about us didn't she? I'm sure she did. Thick as thieves you two."

"What are you—"

"I don't _feel _anythin'!" he cried, tears springing to his eyes. "For years she's had me under her…her spell. I don't even know how it happened but I feel…I feel nothin'! Do you know what it's like to feel _nothin'_?" he pounded his hand against his chest and all Snow could do was gape at him, speechless.

He collapsed back into a student's chair and the room had gone deathly silent. It occurred to Snow, suddenly, that perhaps Graham had it worse than anyone in Storybrooke. At least she and James had had a brief period of happiness before the curse. But if what she had been told of this huntsman was true – abandoned by his parents, raised by wolves, punished by the queen's wrath – well, waking up from _this_ cursed existence only to be reminded of another couldn't be easy. She was about to say as much when the school bell rang, jarring them both from reverie. Hastily, Snow went to unlock the door and students immediately began filing in. What she wouldn't give for an early release day right about now. She hoped she could quickly convince Graham not to do anything rash, but he was right behind her and startled her as she turned back to him.

"Show me the picture again."

"Which one?"

"Of Regina."

She glanced down, the children around her still taking off coats and stowing bags. Sighing, she took the book out from under her arm and reopened to the page in question. The evil eyes of the queen seemed to bore right through her this time as she shuddered and held it in front of him to see.

"There," he pointed at something above the queen's head. "I saw that in one of my flashes. What is that?"

Snow squinted at the page, "That's…" she looked hard…and then gulped. "That's her crest. Her symbol."

"What does it mean?" He looked at her. "I _know_ you know. Tell me."

She took a deep a breath. "It's where—"

"Hi Sheriff!" they heard suddenly and both snapped their heads down to Henry. Seeing the lad _now_ rendered the poor sheriff speechless, but Snow tried to recover for him.

"Henry! I'll be with you in a minute."

But the boy's unassuming expression vanished quickly when he spotted the book in his grandma's hands. "What are you…what—Miss…Blanchard?"

"I have to go," Graham practically bounded out of the classroom and down the hallway.

"Sheriff!" Snow tried to call him back, but it was too late.

Henry yanked on her skirt. "Hey why were you—"

"Not now, Henry," she whispered, nodding toward the rest of the students who had settled into seats and were waiting impatiently for her to begin. "We'll talk after, ok?"

After a slight hesitation, Henry's operation-cobra oriented mind agreed and he took his seat while Snow headed back to her desk. Her mind was spinning, mentally kicking herself for having thought she could successfully reveal to Graham all the answers he was seeking in the twenty minutes the children were out to recess. And now he was off, and who knows what he might do? What he might say to the queen? Would he tip her off? Would he somehow, even without knowing it, reveal to her that there were people in town who had broken the curse? And worse yet…would he get to her before the 'Nolans' arrived for dinner tonight? And if so…was her husband, indeed, heading into a trap?

…

Henry Mills was absolutely beside himself. This was _not _the way things were supposed to go. This was _not _what he'd planned on when he went looking for Emma in Boston to bring her back and make things better. This was…this was…_dangerous_.

Sure, it had been fun driving around Storybrooke and finding Cinderella, and waking up Prince Charming and even getting trapped with Jiminy Cricket. But if he had it to do over again, maybe it would have been better to leave everyone in the dark. Because the night he had in front of him? Well…the way he figured, it would only end one way. Someone he'd come to love in his new family…was going to get hurt.

He never did get his chance to talk with Snow about why the sheriff was standing in her classroom or why, it seemed, she was showing him the book. Halfway through math, his mother had shown up – well, his _fake _mother – and pulled him out of class. Usually, that meant something bad to begin with. He just didn't realize _how _bad until Regina put him in the car and said they were headed to the market. "_We have a very special evening planned, Henry_," she'd said. "_I need your help to get ready for the Nolans_."

Henry panicked. The Nolans. As in 'David' Nolan. As in Prince James – he had agreed to come over to dinner tonight? Was he _crazy_? Prince Charming had no idea what he was up against and now, Henry had no time to warn him. That was probably his evil mom's intention – he realized – in pulling him out of class. She had caught on. She must have found out they'd been spending time together. Why hadn't he been more careful? Why hadn't he realized what she'd do when she found out 'David' might be remembering? And now…his grandfather was going to pay.

"_Wait!_" he'd blurted out as Regina had started pulling out of the parking lot. "_I…I left something in my locker._"

"_You can get it tomorrow_."

"_It's for a project, Mom. I HAVE to get it done tonight._"

"_I will call Miss Blanchard and explain_." And that settled it. The mayor's word was final.

The routine was one he had almost memorized by now. They went to the market. She picked out the best produce, the finest cuts of beef, the most expensive dressings and appetizers, and a deep dark red wine: Ingredients for the perfect meal. If there was one thing his evil mom was actually good at, it was cooking. So folks never declined an invitation to dinner. She never bought dessert though. No...Dessert – she made that from scratch. And though the ritual had taken place at their dining room table for as long as Henry could remember, he only recently figured out what she was _really_ doing since 'Miss Blanchard' had given him the book…and now…he was terrified.

He'd spent the whole car ride to the market desperately trying to figure out a way to warn the prince. He had a little hope when they ran into Archie – in the fruit section picking out strawberries – when they walked by with the cart. Archie didn't know 'David' at all though, so it was tricky. Plus he had had to be awfully covert with Regina so close by. By the end of their very brief conversation, he fully believed he'd done little more than confuse his poor therapist and send him off with an equally confusing message that he may or may not deliver to Mary Margaret. And even if his grandmother _got _the message, there was no guarantee she would reach her prince before his fateful dinner.

Yes, Henry Mills was totally beside himself by the time the clock chimed and the doorbell rang at 6:00pm on the dot. His mother had made him change from his school uniform into a clean shirt and tie, polish his shoes and pull on his dinner jacket. And when she glared up at him just before she opened the front door, he _knew _she was going to watch him closely tonight. He held his breath and turned a little green as David Nolan's wife walked into the foyer.

"Regina!" came the blonde woman's entirely too sweet voice. She wore a long beige coat that settled around her knees over a rather pretty pink sweater and cream colored pants. Her boots were those fancy suede kind he often saw his mother wear, and on her head, a pretty pink headband. She embraced Regina instantly who seemed, indeed, very pleased to see her friend.

"Where is um," Regina peaked over her friend's shoulder. "Where is David?"

Henry's heart leapt. He'd done it! He'd gotten through to James. Snow White got the message to him after all and he'd figured a way out of this—

"Oh, we misjudged a curb on the way over here. He's just checking the tires," said Kathryn.

Henry's face fell. Sure enough, a few seconds later, James himself walked in.

"There you are sweetie," Kathryn said, hooking her arm through her husband's upon his entering. James had on a longer, darker coat than Henry had seen him wear so far, and for a moment, he thought he noticed his grandfather double checking something in one of the inside pockets. But he decided he was imagining it. Yes, wishful thinking – for a few moments later, James had pulled off his plaid red scarf and beret, handing them over with the coat to Regina. After hanging coats in the front closet, she turned and called up the stairs.

"Henry! We have guests!"

That was his cue to come bounding down the stairs and be as charming as possible. Quickly he stood up, brushed himself off and headed down.

"Henry," Regina flashed him a broad smile and settled her hand firmly on his shoulder. "You remember David and Kathryn from the hospital?" she flashed him another eerie grin and then glanced up at her guests, "and from your party of course."

"Of course," Kathryn smiled, crouching down and ruffling his hair. "Hi Henry!" she said in a voice that was far too sugary.

"Hi," Henry managed a weak grin. Kathryn stepped past him and started walking down the foyer with Regina, which is when he finally dared to look at James.

"Hey Henry," James smiled down at him, though he was careful not to appear too familiar.

"Pops!" Henry whispered fiercely. "Did Sn—" he caught himself, glancing back at his mom. "Did Mary Margaret tell—"

"Henry!" came his mother's sharp, commanding tone. Henry spun on his heels. Yes, he'd been right. She would be keeping a _very _close eye on him tonight.

…

It was getting close to dessert time and Henry was practically nauseous. He'd tried every excuse he could think of. "Can I show Mr. Nolan my 'Captain America" collection?" _Henry, we're still eating_. _After dessert._ "Can Mr. Nolan help me clear the dinner dishes?" _Henry, don't be rude_. "Mom I think there's a lost dog outside!" _I've seen him too. I've already called the animal shelter._ The witch had thought of everything and he was running out of time. Soon she'd bring out dessert and then it would be all over. All of their work will have been for nothing. The hospital, the coma, the reunion with Miss Blanchard, his new…his new _family_. The very thought practically drove him to tears. How _could _he have been so _stupid_? He'd spent all of that time with Prince Charming at his castle. Why didn't he think to _warn _him of these Mayor Mills dinners? Why hadn't it occurred to him that his recently comatose grandfather would be his mother's next logical target?

"It was really just the strangest thing," Kathryn was saying as he brought out a tray of coffee cups he'd been sent to fetch while his mother had grabbed…the dessert.

"What was that?" Regina asked with a syrupy smile as she set down her famous…_apple_ pie.

"Oh I was just reminding David of that talk we'd had the other night," she laughed, rubbing her hand over 'David's' shoulder while she squeezed his other hand. Henry caught a barely perceptible wince from his grandfather as she did it, and in spite of everything, the boy laughed under his breath.

"About what?"

"Well it's just so odd, Regina," Kathryn leaned forward as the mayor very carefully cut generous helpings of pie onto their fancy plates. "But I could not for the life of me remember the day we first met!"

Henry gasped and glanced worriedly up at James. The prince had drawn a sharp breath too but seemed un-phased as Regina looked piercingly between fake husband and wife. "Oh really?"

"Y-yeah," James chuckled, withdrawing his cloth napkin from his lap and dabbing the side of his mouth. "Me having amnesia didn't help much."

Kathryn let out a loud, almost embarrassing laugh as if her 'husband's' little quip was the funniest joke she'd ever heard. "Isn't that just wild? How can a girl forget something like that?"

"But you remember the important things," James added quickly, looking closely between Kathryn and Regina. Even from his seat at the end of the table, Henry could tell what this little confession had revealed to the queen. Someone in Storybrooke had been thinking too much about the past.

"I don't know, David," Regina replied in a low drawl. I'd say the day a man first meets his wife is an _important_ one."

"True," countered the prince. "But from what I've learned, our recent past has been somewhat…" he looked to Kathryn, "…rocky. It hasn't been perfect," he paused again and covered his 'wife's' hand affectionately before he finished, "but we're making a new beginning." And to Henry's horror, James planted a small kiss on Kathryn's cheek. It was only when he finished with a hug, caught Henry's eye over her shoulder, and stuck out his tongue rather comically that Henry was certain it was still a performance…so far. He shot a panicked look at the pie Regina was now placing in front of them and then back up at James, praying he would notice the signal. Hoping he would figure out what he'd been trying to warn him about all night. But it was no use. James was looking elsewhere, fiddling with his napkin again and adjusting his dinner jacket.

"Well, I say that definitely calls for dessert," Regina proclaimed as she raised her fork rather ceremoniously, indicating that her final…deadly course may now commence.

This was it. It was all over. Maybe he could pretend to faint. Fake a sudden stomach cramp. He _had _to stop this. He _had _to prevent his grandfather from eating that pie. One bite and he would forget everything he'd learned. He'd be back under the spell, under the curse. The apples. Those honey crisp apples! One of the many ways Regina had maintained control over the town for so long. The minute someone started asking questions, figuring things out, she knew about it. Somehow, she always found out. And it was the same routine. After all, who could resist being asked to dinner with the mayor on Mifflin Street? And when they left?...Their fake memories were perfectly restored.

It took Henry a while to realize what she had been doing, and even longer for him to figure out why, it seemed, he was somehow immune. Then Miss Blanchard had given him the book. It explained everything. He was the son of their savior, and therefore, could not be affected by the curse. But James? Prince Charming? If he ate that pie, he'd be David Nolan again…again, and probably forever.

"I've heard so much about this famous pie, Regina," Kathryn said, carving into her piece with her fork. "Honey, Regina's apple pie is even better than Granny's."

"Is that right?" James replied, still adjusting his jacket and setting his napkin back down in his lap. "Then it _must _be good cuz Granny's is exquisite."

"Oh, I don't think you'll be disappointed, David," Regina's voice practically cooed as she took a healthy bite. Kathryn dug in too while James…well Henry got a little hopeful as James hesitated. He had his fork in hand and had cut out a little piece, but he wasn't eating yet. Instead, he was watching Kathryn…Watching her as if he was _waiting_ for something to happen. Regina too was watching her friend intently and as soon as Kathryn swallowed, her eyes flew wide open and she grasped her husband's wrist.

"Oh David!" she cried. "I remember now! Oh how could I be so stupid?" she laughed at herself and shook her head, feeling quite foolish indeed. "It was my father's birthday party, remember? You were just an intern at the firm. It was a big…company…brouhaha!" she threw her head back in relief and looked to Regina. "I can't believe how that just slipped my mind."

"Funny how that happens sometimes," smiled the mayor who, obviously satisfied by the wife's reaction, shifted her attention to the husband.

"David?" she asked in an almost innocent voice. "How do you like your dessert?"

"Mmm," James coughed a little and glanced down at Henry before raising the fork to his lips.

Henry couldn't take it. He'd suffer the punishment later; he didn't care. He flew to his feet and was about to cry out when suddenly, the entire dinner party was startled by a pounding at the door.

Regina's eyes flew in a rage in the direction of the foyer. "Henry," she snapped in a voice quite unlike the one she'd just used on 'David'. "See who that is."

"But—" Henry was about to protest when he glanced back at James in horror. While the pounding at the door seemed (rather cruelly now) to have offered a perfectly timed distraction, James had bitten into the pie anyway and was sliding the fork back out of his mouth. It was over. Regina had won. "Ok," he said dejectedly, slid out of his chair, and sauntered to the door.

Tears welled in his eyes as he walked slowly down the hall toward the sound of the pounding. The foyer seemed to stretch longer than it had in years. No doubt 'David Nolan' was truly emerging now from his coma and reminiscing with Kathryn about all the wonderful things they'd never actually done. Oh, why had he not thought to warn them? How could he have already ruined his one chance at having…a real…_dad_?

He felt so nauseous he thought he might puke, but he held it together and wrenched open the door to reveal—

"Sheriff?" he cried in surprise.

And sure enough, Graham had just burst through the door. "Henry," he said, looking rather haggard. "Is your mum home?"

"Yeah she's—"

"Graham?" The sound of his mother's stilettos clacked angrily across the floor. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed, sliding Henry out of the way.

"I need to talk to you," he hissed back.

"Henry, go back to the table," his mother barked and Henry did as he was told. He might as well now, even though his one opportunity to talk to 'David' without Regina around had come far too late. As he expected, when he returned to the dining room, David's hands were laced together with Kathryn's…and he was kissing her.

"I can't believe I forgot all about your father's toast," he was saying as Henry plopped back down on his chair.

"Oh, I know, how embarrassing!" Kathryn laughed as she took another bite of the cursed pie. "All those board meeting analogies! How could you stand it?"

"Hey, he was finally letting me marry you, Kathy" he cooed, touching the tip of her nose, and this time Henry really _wanted _to throw up. "I mean, it's still a…little hazy. But I definitely remember that day."

"Our wedding," Kathryn confirmed as she beamed at him. "Finally, something you truly remember." She hugged him again and Henry looked up to see if he could again detect any irony or deception in his eyes. But again, it was wishful thinking. 'David' did not look back at him. There was no silly face this time. No wink in his direction. Henry had lost his grandfather.

"Just come down here and join us, Graham."

"No I don't want to eat, I just—" the mayor and sheriff paused at the entrance to the dining room and Graham looked rather uncomfortably between its three seated occupants.

"Graham, you remember David Nolan, our resident John Doe, and his wife?"

"Of course," Graham mumbled. "How'd you do?"

"Join us for some pie, Graham. I know how you like my pie."

"I told you," he said impatiently, "I don't—"

"Oh please Sheriff!" Kathryn pleaded with him, rising suddenly from the table. "After all, you should be in on this celebration. You're the one who helped find my husband and now," she hastily guided Graham down to a chair – who was looking more flustered and confused by the minute – as she turned back toward Regina with tears blearing up her eyes. "Regina, he's _remembering_. We were just reminiscing about our wedding day!"

"Really?" the queen's eyes blazed with glory as her gaze fell on David. "Just the wedding, David?"

"Well the wedding's the most clear," he said, his eyes darting back and forth, rather disoriented, as if sorting through the memories that were slowly returning. "But bits and pieces, yeah. I dunno, some of it just…came to me."

"That's wonderful," Regina smiled, though she remained behind Graham, placing her hands on his shoulders and squeezing, Henry could see, rather tightly. "Graham, please. Stay for dessert. Then we'll talk about that…other matter. I promise."

For the second time tonight, Henry glanced up in horror as the sheriff too, conceded, and helped himself to the pie. It was official. Operation Cobra was finished. Henry, of course, would never know what exactly he and Mary Margaret had been talking about in his classroom, but whatever the sheriff had learned that day was as sure as forgotten.

The celebration died down rather quickly after that, as it always did. With her objective complete, Mayor Mills was never interested in her guests staying much longer. They were in the foyer later, saying goodbye (Henry glaring at Kathryn's arm hooked lazily through her husband's again) as Regina got their coats. Graham had already left, far more subdued than he had been when he'd arrived, eyes glazed over and looking very much as if he just had a slight head ache. David's eyes were a little cloudy too, though – Henry noticed – a little more focused than Kathryn's. Henry wasn't surprised. _She_ hadn't even known about the curse, so the pie simply reaffirmed its block in her brain.

"Say goodbye to our friends, Henry," Regina said softly, stroking her hand through her son's hair.

"Well, wait a minute," David said, glancing down at the boy. "I believe this young man had a comic book collection he wanted to show me."

Regina started and glanced up at David, eyeing him shrewdly. But, sensing no pretense now, the danger long since averted, she stepped back and turned Henry toward her like an affectionate mother. "That's right," she purred. "We almost forgot. Henry, why don't you go show Mr. Nolan those comic books real quick."

"Ok," he muttered. He turned toward the stairs but Regina tightened her grip on his arm.

"But don't be long," she warned, and finally released him.

Henry simply nodded and trudged up the stairs to his room with David following close behind him.

His room seemed so much darker now than it had seemed in the few short days he felt they were making progress with Cobra. How small and dank it felt now. How dull the bright colors in the room seemed as he led a completely oblivious David into his room, unable to relish in the few precious moments he had with his now, unknowing grandfather. He couldn't possibly explain it all again. And _this _David…wouldn't believe him anyway. The pie had probably eliminated the amnesia, making him even more susceptible to the curse's false memories.

"Here they are," Henry mumbled, pulling a half dozen comics off his desk and shoving them into David's hands. Then he plopped on his bed and kicked his shoes off, not even wanting to look up into his grandfather's empty eyes.

"These are awesome, Henry," David was saying, flipping through the pictures of heroes that had once inspired a young boy to find his real mom. "You always been a collector?"

"Yeah," he said, still not looking up.

"Hey," David closed the comic and returned them to the desk. "You ok?" he asked.

"I'm fine," he replied, kicking his legs back and forth off the side of the bed. "You better get back Mr. Nolan. Your wife's waiting."

"'_Mr. Nolan'_?" the man said, crouching down in front of the heartbroken boy. "What happened to…_'Pops'_?"

Henry stopped kicking, frozen to his bed. Surely he hadn't heard that right. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him. Surely he—

But when he finally looked up at the man kneeling beside him, his heart soared. This man's eyes weren't empty at all. And it wasn't 'David'. It was James. "You…but…I saw…" but Prince Charming was beaming up at him proudly and there was no mistaking it. The queen's plan had failed. "Pops!" he cried, unable to stop his body from shaking with tears and relief. He threw himself at his grandfather, wrapping his small arms around his neck and holding tight. "How did you…I mean I saw you eat it! I saw you!" he pulled back, struggling now to keep his voice low.

"You saw me eat _a _pie, Henry. Not _the _pie," James said, and Henry watched as his grandfather reached into his jacket pocket…and pulled out a small, plastic carton. In it was the piece of pie his mother had cut for him, wrapped in one of those single serving wedge-shaped supermarket containers. "I switched 'em."

"But how did you—" Henry gasped, covering his gaping mouth. "You got my message!" he cried gleefully.

"Of course I got your message," James laughed, tucking the pie back into his pocket. "Snow called me right away after she spoke with your therapist. You were brilliant, Henry. Couldn't have done it without you."

"But when did you—how did you switch them? I was watching you all night!"

"You weren't _supposed _to see it. And hopefully the queen didn't either." James adjusted his jacket once more and gave his hand a little theatrical wave. "A little 'slight-of-hand' I learned once from a friend of mine."

"Who, Gepetto?" Henry asked, all of his earlier enthusiasm for their mission returning at once.

James shook his head. "Not Gepetto. I don't know who he is here, but back there we called him…Genie," he said with a wink.

Henry's grin was as wide as ever and seemed permanently plastered across his face. He was bursting with more questions now but—

"Henry!" they heard a shrill voice from below. Time was growing short.

"Jeez, you gotta go," he whispered, taking the prince's hand and leading him to the door. He was about to open it when suddenly, he remembered something. "Graham!" he cried. "Do you think he—"

But James was already shaking his head, sadly. "I hadn't planned for that. We didn't know he'd show up. Snow tried to find him but…he definitely ate the real thing which means he—"

"Is back under the curse," Henry's face fell. So close. So close to having the town sheriff in on the operation.

"Hey," James crouched down again. "From what your grandmother told me, he only _half_ remembered. And sometimes only knowing _part _of something is worse than not knowing at all."

Henry's brow creased a bit, his young brain trying to conceive of a world where partial knowledge was worse than ignorance.

"When the time is right, Henry, he'll remember again. He'll remember all of it. For now he's safe."

The boy looked up, "and so are you."

James fought against tearing up. Red, swollen eyes would be hard to explain to his fake wife downstairs who now believed he could at least remember their wedding day. It had been quite a gamble, memorizing enough details from their conversations at the hospital and the stories he'd pieced together by studying those god-awful wedding albums. It seemed to have paid off though, and succeeded in convincing both Kathryn and the queen. "I'm proud of you Henry," he whispered as he hugged his grandson one more time. "And so is Snow. You were wonderful tonight."

"So were you!" Henry cheered, pulling back from him, beaming. "You really had me going there, Pops."

"Henry!" they heard bellowing from downstairs. "That's enough now. Say good-night to Mr. Nolan."

Henry smirked. "Good night _Mr. Nolan_."

James smiled. "G'night Henry. I'll see you soon."

With that, his grandfather left the room and Henry watched from his window as the Nolans climbed in their car and drove away. Only then did he collapse back onto his bed and take what he believed was his first deep breath in hours. They'd suffered a minor setback with Graham. Whatever he had learned today was by now forgotten. But James was right. Better that than have him raving all over town about things he only half understood. The important thing was that his grandfather was safe…and Operation Cobra was back on!

*****Whew! Well that one was a doozie! Hope you enjoyed Henry's roller coaster ride as much as I did (poor kid!). Must once again thank all of you readers out there, both new to the fic and loyal subscribers from the start. Without your feedback, I'd probably leave this one in 'development hell'. Thanks for the support. Plenty more to come and **_**finally **_**a little bit of Sean on the way!*****

*****By the way, if you haven't read any fics by KayleeThePete yet, go there NOW! It's awesome*****


	10. Two princes walk into a bar

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Two princes walk into a bar...**

By the time Snow walked in her front door that night, her feet were killing her. What an emotional whirlwind of a day it had been and it _still_ wasn't over! Between finishing school, running all over the square looking for Graham, getting Henry's message to James and devising a way around the queen's poison, Snow was all but completely drained. But it still remained to be seen whether their plan had worked. So much could go wrong. If James couldn't make the switch, he'd fall back under the curse. If Regina caught him doing it, he could be in even _more _danger, not to mention what that might mean for Henry. And Snow would have no way of knowing for sure until James sent word. So despite her incredible fatigue, aching shoulders and sore back, she pushed through her front door rather energetically, intent on searching for some clue, some message that he was all right.

"Emma!" she called out, for she had seen the car in the driveway. The lights were on but nobody answered. Hastily, she pulled off her coat and scarf, slung her bag over the back of a chair and called again, all the while scanning the spacious first floor for any kind of message. He wouldn't have called: too conspicuous this late in the evening with Kathryn home. But surely he could find time to—

"Hey," she heard and spun around to see Emma sauntering down the stairs.

"Hey!" she broke into a wide grin, for she had not seen Emma since their conversation a few nights ago and had already forgotten how blessed the very sight of her daughter made her feel. "How are you, stranger?"

Emma let out a grunt and shrugged as she gripped the railing and used it to sink down, plopping her bum on the third step while propping up her knees on the bottom one with two soft thuds from her boots.

Snow bit her lip. "Uh oh," she approached her. "Rough day?"

Emma let out a snort. "If by 'rough' you mean spending the entire day driving all over town looking for my boss, only to find him _right_ back at the home of our favorite mayor then…yeah. I had a rough day."

Snow gulped, pausing in the middle of undoing the top button of her cardigan. Graham _had _gone to Regina. That could _not _have ended well. "You uh…you saw Graham at Regina's house?"

"Yep," she answered bitterly, crossing her arms and resting them on top of her knees.

"When?"

She scoffed. "Does it matter?"

"Actually, it does," was Snow's quick reply, and while she was perfectly mindful of how her _own _interest might appear odd to her daughter, this information was too critical to play coy.

Emma raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. "Why?"

Snow's eyes darted to the side as she laid her sweater over one of the kitchen stools. She'd once heard Emma brag to Henry that she could tell when someone was lying. This was hardly surprising, for Snow could never fool James either and the likeness between father and daughter was becoming more and more clear with every passing moment. So while confessing the _entire _truth was out of the question, she settled on revealing as much as she could. "Because he came to see me today."

"He what?" Emma pulled herself to her feet at once and joined her friend in the kitchen. "When?"

"During school, when the kids were at recess. He looked…" she sighed, shaking her head. "He looked awful."

"Yeah I know," Emma snapped as she started to pace the area between the island and sink. "He looked like that last night too."

_When he kissed you_, Snow thought, though she kept it to herself.

"What did he want?" Emma asked, though her nervous pacing rendered her question far less demanding than she'd wanted it to be.

Snow braced her arms on the other side of the island and hoisted herself onto the stool. "He was pretty incoherent at first. Said he'd been having dreams." She eyed her daughter carefully, looking for hints that Graham had shared any of this with her. "And something about a wolf."

Emma halted. "A wolf?" she leaned against the countertop. "He mentioned a wolf to you too?"

"Yes. Emma—" she folded her hands together and narrowed her gaze, "—what happened tonight?" Her heart had been racing since hearing that the rather unstable sheriff – and newly educated _huntsman _– had intruded upon an already dangerous rendezvous at Regina's.

"Nothing," Emma muttered, her eyes fixed on the rustic countertop as she too slumped onto a stool.

"Nothing?" Snow urged. "_This_—" she gestured up and down at her daughter's posture, "is not 'nothing.'"

"But that's _exactly_ what happened. Nothing!" Emma slapped her hand down in front of her. "I drove around _all _day looking for him. Getting reports from people saying he was running through the woods, walking aimlessly in and out of restaurants, shops, alleyways—" she paused and glared at Mary Margaret, "—_schools _apparently?"

Snow cleared her throat but didn't reply.

"And when I finally track him down, he's coming out of the mayor's house looking _completely _normal and said everything was…_fine_."

"Fine?"

She let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, _I'm fine,_'" she said in a rather good imitation of the sheriff's Irish brogue. Snow stifled a smirk. "That's it. Had absolutely _no_ regard for how _worried _he made everyone all day, looked at _me _like _I _was the one who was nuts. Didn't even _remember _at first what happened _last_ night—" she stopped herself suddenly and looked, rather guiltily over at her unassuming friend.

Snow cocked an eyebrow. "'Last night'?" she asked innocently, though she couldn't help a knowing, motherly grin. "I take it you two…talked?"

To Emma's confused horror, she felt herself blush, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why. When she'd first heard Mary Margaret walk in the door, she'd almost rolled over on her bed and snapped off her lamp so she'd be left alone. But when her roommate called up to her, Emma felt something pull at her stomach and found she actually _wanted_ to respond. She was halfway down the stairs when Mary Margaret called again, and seeing her cheery face was like…well, it was like coming home. "Yeah we…talked."

Snow smiled and reached for a small candy dish at the end of the counter she'd filled that morning with roasted caramel corn. She slid it in front of her daughter as she rose from her stool and approached the stove. "Emma," she said, moving to fill a kettle with water. "I want to hear about this but I have to ask."

Emma twisted around in her stool, popping a caramel corn in her mouth as she looked at her friend. "What?"

She took a deep breath, working hard to control the anxiety slowly squeezing her stomach. If Graham was indeed, as Emma had recounted, '_fine'_ that meant the queen had likely succeeded in restoring him to the curse. Meanwhile…more time went by without any word from James. "Tonight, when you saw Graham at Regina's house, did you see…I mean, could you tell if—" but they were interrupted by a violent tapping behind them and Emma jerked backwards as a mass of blue and purple came hurling through the kitchen window.

"What the hell?" Emma jumped off her stool as a tiny bluebird shook out its little feathers, puffing its chest out proudly in front of them as it lifted its small beak…and presented a purple Michaelmas daisy to Mary Margaret. She glared up at her roommate, expecting to see a look of shock that equaled her own, but the woman was just standing there…smiling at a _bird_…and looking…immensely relieved.

"Thank you," Snow whispered, taking James's message from the bluebird's beak and holding out her other hand on which her little friend immediately perched. The scene, she knew, must look completely absurd, and she would soon have to contrive an explanation, but the message confirmed that James had survived the evening, and it was with unmasked joy that she walked the bluebird over to the far windowsill beyond the sitting room and set it flying to its tiny house hanging from the backyard tree. She placed the daisy in the same vase as the others he'd sent that first night and returned to the kitchen…to a wide-eyed, slack-jawed deputy. Snow had to fight to keep from laughing.

"So…" Emma said slowly, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Mary Margaret pulling two mugs from the cupboard as if nothing had happened. "You…can talk to birds."

Snow chuckled as she fixed two cups of cocoa and waved her hand dismissively. "Oh no, they're just…" she paused and sighed toward the ceiling. "They're like…pets." She nodded as if agreeing with herself and presented a hot steaming mug to Emma.

Emma reached for it, but she continued to stare, incredulous. "Pets."

"Mmm hmm." She nodded again and sipped, her eyes twinkling as she peered over the rim of her mug and grinned.

"Pet _birds_ that…" she glanced up at the far windowsill, noticing the entire bouquet of beautiful daisies for the first time, "…bring you flowers."

But Snow just shook her head and maintained her grin, feeling that she was finally getting the hang of controlling the conversation…the way only a mother could. "Tell me about last night…with Graham," she said as she took another gulp. Still befuddled by their airborne intruder, Emma seemed to have forgotten about Snow's cryptic questioning and slid back onto the stool, giving up…and giving in. Coaxed and cajoled once again by cocoa, mother and daughter talked long into the night.

…

_"Honestly, Charming," his wife jeered back to him, her soft voice dissipating in the cool night air as the wind whipped past his cheeks. "You know Cain is no match for Blossom!"_

_James wasted no breath in replying as he kicked the hind legs of his black stallion, prompting Cain into a mad dash through the thicket of drooping willows. _Almost there boy, _he thought, giving the reigns another shake_, come on! _But in the end, his beloved was right, and her white mare reached the lagoon just before he caught up. Princess Snow White had won another race. "One day, my love," he said as he slowed his horse down to a trot, "Cain and I will beat this beast of yours."_

_"Only if she's being ridden by Sneezy, darling," she replied with a grin. Snow unceremoniously kicked her one leg over the side of Blossom and dismounted, caring not for the yards of fabric that fanned out beneath her as she jumped down. James simply shook his head and laughed, forever impressed by his wife's ability to best him nearly every time in spite of the chaotic jumble of petticoats, ruffles and underskirts – 'pesky feminine impediments' she'd once called them, though they seemed not to _impede_ her one bit._

_"Oh no," he replied as they reached the edge of the pond and he too dismounted. "Blossom, the horse, and _you_ as the rider. We'll show them, right Cain? Victory will be ours?" He looked to his stallion for support, but Cain merely turned his head to the side, appearing quite bored and apathetic for so massive an animal._

_Snow let out a triumphant laugh. "Ah ha, you see? Even your horse concedes you could never ride better than I."_

_James rolled his eyes and gave Cain a playful rump on the arse. "Traitor," he grumbled as the stallion trotted off to wade in the pond, Blossom at his heals. "You certainly have a way with animals, my dear."_

_She gave him a warm smile as she bunched up the layers of her gown and stepped through a mild thicket of tall grasses to join him. "I knew I should have packed my riding clothes," she said as he reached out his hand and led her to a less rutted path around the pond._

_"I _did _say Thomas would not object to us taking our evening rides through his gardens while we're here," James reminded her as he looped her arm through his own._

_"Yes, but I had no idea you would dare me to a race in my _evening _gown," she replied, giving his hand a squeeze._

_"I _said _I was joking."_

_"And when have you ever known me to refuse a challenge?"_

_James stopped and gave her arm a tug, stepping in front of her so that she faced him. "Never," he whispered as he swept his gaze up from her slippers to the tip of her crown. Growing up a poor shepherd, James rarely noticed or cared much for rudiments of fashion, but even _he _could appreciate the stunning elegance of the periwinkle gown his wife had chosen for their friends' wedding. She was beautiful and always had been. But in the evening moonlight, glimmering among the shadows of King Christopher's tallest spires, standing against a backdrop of wildflowers blossoming around the lagoon, she was as bewitching and enchanting as a goddess. The sight quite literally took his breath away and any playful banter that might have continued in a less…private setting…was lost to him now as his eyes feasted on her loveliness._

_Snow trembled under his heated gaze and felt her heart flutter as he closed the gap between them. It was the height of impropriety really, such a brazen display of intimacy while they were guests in another's gardens…It excited her. And though they were hardly in plain sight of the palace balconies (quite hidden actually as they were far beyond the courtyards and concealed by the drooping branches of the willows that enveloped them) it felt no less scandalous to Snow as James cupped her nape in his hand and pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his own. _

_Though they had been married for almost two months, it still shocked the princess that her husband could be such a passionate lover, and at the same time so achingly gentle. Tonight (she thought, bemused) it was most unfair, for while James was still adorned head to toe in his heavy blue coat and cravat, with his martial sash draped diagonally across his chest, Snow's ensemble was far less…layered. So while he kept one gloved hand at her nape, massaging the back of her neck as he deepened their kiss, he teased his other hand across her collarbone and grazed the tips of his fingers ever so lightly along her bare shoulders, trailing down the outside of her arm…and then slowly back up again._

_"James," she shivered, their breaths mingling together as she lifted a languid gaze to his piercing blue eyes. He pulled back, expecting her to remind him of where they were and, rightfully, insisting that they stop…but she didn't. His pulse raced faster than that blasted horse of his ever would as she caught one of his hands in hers and held it down in front of her. His breathing was ragged and desirous, but she took her time, slowly peeling off his glove and discarding it on the garden floor. She traced the lines of his palm with her fingertips, pausing as she brushed over an old scar from his days as a farmer. James drew a sharp breath as she pressed a kiss there and then looked up at him again with hazy eyes. Swiftly, James tore off his other glove and cupped her face with both hands, warm and bare now, plunging his fingers in her hair, and claiming her mouth once more. He kissed her hungrily, parting her lips with his own and relishing in the sweet taste of her as he nipped her bottom lip and then ran a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her cheek, down her neck and collarbone…and finally settled at the hollow of her throat. She groaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, arching her head back toward the sky as he mercilessly teased her, leaving trails of fire wherever he touched. _Sweet Lord_ they needed to stop. They were at Ella's wedding for pity's sake! But James showed no signs of slowing down, and she let out a tiny yelp as his hands caressed their way down the delicate bodice of her dress and then caught her around the waist, crushing her fully against him._

_She pulled his head up to meet hers for another kiss and grasped at his coat, frustrated by the tough, course fabric, needing him closer. It felt like they were racing again, each competing for control over the other's passions, melting into each other and yet, needing to be closer still. She matched his every move with equal fervor and delighted in the deep, heady groan that escaped his throat as she mimicked his earlier attentions, pressing soft kisses along his chin line and down his neck just below the ear. _

_"Snow," he panted, finally breaking away. She gazed up at him, her lips swollen, a feverish tint in her cheeks. Lord, he knew _that _look. They _really _needed to stop. _For God's sake!_ he thought with an inward chuckle; this was _Thomas's_ wedding night, not his own. They should return to their horses. Return to the castle. Yes…they should _definitely _stop, he thought, brushing a tendril of hair off her face and laying his palm against her cheek… But not yet…Not…just…yet—_

"What are you thinking about?" an abrupt voice slammed into his subconscious and wrenched him from the daydream; in an instant, James came crashing back to reality in the sterile setting of the Nolans' front sitting room.

"Nothing," he answered immediately, his voice steady enough, though he felt as if he were still panting from his midnight tryst with Snow.

"Are you…remembering something else?"

_I sure am_, he thought, though he certainly wasn't about to reveal this particular recollection to 'Kathryn'. Finally, James turned toward the blonde who had not yet changed out of her rather smart-looking ensemble from tonight's dinner. Her eyes looked so hopeful as she padded over to him, and – considering the memory he'd just been reliving – James almost felt guilty. Almost.

Being back in the 'queen's lair' this evening had roused up plenty of other memories too, far less pleasant than those he had of Snow. The queen had purposefully transformed the cold-hearted Princess Abigail into this simpering, submissive little housewife specifically to make sure 'David Nolan' never wanted for more. It was calloused manipulation, and perhaps made Abigail's fate a bit pitiable. But it was hardly his fault. _Snow _was his true love, his _true _wife. And he refused to feel much _more_ than pity for having to slight a woman who herself had more than once conspired so malevolently against him. Oh yes, tonight he'd recalled quite a bit of dear Midas's daughter, and given the Shakespeare-worthy performance he'd put on at dinner, he firmly believed he owed her nothing.

"Just trying to…sort it all out," he said with a light chuckle and tried not to tense as Kathryn slipped her arms around his waist. He'd feared this might be the end result of his charade. Faking that memory had been his only option this evening. It worked perfectly, and, he had to admit, had been kind of thrilling, completely fooling the queen. Unfortunately, Kathryn had decided that 'David' remembering their wedding, must also mean 'David'…remembering their love.

"I know I've said it a lot tonight, sweetie, but I'm…I'm just…sooooo happy," she sighed, cuddled against his shirt.

He hugged her back, though in his mind, he wandered elsewhere again. "I know, me too," he muttered, reluctantly cradling her head against his chest as he tried to remember what had reminded him in the first place of that midnight ride at Thomas and Ella's—

Wait – Thomas! Yes, that was it! He had been thinking about Thomas and Ella. Sean and Ashley. "Kathryn," he said, "do you know where—"

"_Kathyrn?_," she pulled back, almost glaring at him. "You…you were calling me 'Kathy' again tonight." She bit her lip, curling her hands into his shirt.

James gulped, wanting to kick himself as that pesky adage of Jiminy's came to mind: something about a growing lie and the nose on one's face. "Right, I'm sorry. I just…got distracted," he fumbled as he pried himself from her grasp and shifted toward the window. "I was just…I was thinking of someone."

"Oh?" Kathryn seemed not to notice the brush off and inched toward him with a coy grin. "And who might that be?"

He turned to her, hands on his hips and cocked an eyebrow. "Do you know where Garcon's is?"

She halted, visibly jarred, and her eyebrows furrowed together. "Garcon's? Why would you want to go _there_?"

He shoved a hand into his pocket with a shrug. "Don't know exactly. I heard the name today and thought it sounded familiar so I wanted to see—"

"Honey, we don't _go _to Garcon's."

"Why not?" he asked, irked somewhat – though it hardly mattered – by the change in her tone.

She seemed to struggle for an answer, her eyes darting around as she settled her hand on the back of the arm chair by the window. "Well it's just…" she tried. "It's simply not reputable."

James cocked his head to the side and narrowed his gaze. _There_ it is, he thought. _There's _Abigail. "Not…reputable?"

"Not at all," she replied at once, folding both hands now on top of the chair, looking at him as if he should know better. "Trust me, sweetie. You've never even been there. The place just isn't…well, it's just not classy."

Not classy enough for _you, _he thought disdainfully. He thought briefly he might make something of this. Manipulate the conversation into some sort of argument that might then give him excuse to leave. But he had another idea. Something he'd been meaning to try. "Are you sure?" he asked, moving to stand on the other side of the chair. "Because when I heard the name I had this…I had this flash."

She perked up, becoming interested again. "A flash?"

"Yeah," he looked up at the ceiling as if recalling the memory. "I saw you and me? Sitting in booth?" He leveled his gaze at her, leaning forward slightly. "Isn't that where I took you…after your father's party?"

She looked to the side and that glassy look he'd grown accustomed to returned. "After my…no I don't…I don't think so," she said, though it sounded like a question, and she was squinting hard, as if she was trying to read some very fine print.

"Yeah," he moved closer still. "I'm almost sure of it. Garcon's. After that party. I think I told you I…needed some air that was a little less…stuffy?" It was plausible, he thought. It certainly _sounded _like something he might say based on what she'd already told him of his so-called relationship with Storybrooke's Midas. He let the idea sink in, giving it time to seed into her brain. He had no idea if it would work and knew it was a dangerous play, but perhaps…with the right methods of suggestion—

"Yes!" Kathryn suddenly blurted out and James started for something had shifted in her eyes. "Oh honey, I had completely forgotten about that! Gosh, that was so long ago!"

James stood rather dumbfounded, unsure whether it was the effects of the queen's poison still wearing on her…or if Abigail really was as thick as he had always suspected.

"Oh honey, it really _is _all coming back!" she clapped her hands over her chest and beamed up at him, sliding one knee onto the chair cushion and then reaching up to cup his cheek. "I didn't want to believe it at Regina's but now…you're…you're…" her breath hiccupped in her throat. James shifted uncomfortably as her eyes moistened, "you're remembering things even _I _had forgotten."

James removed her hand from his cheek and clasped it in front of them. "Yeah," he chuckled nervously. "Yeah I guess so." Perhaps he _should_ have manufactured a fight.

"Oh David," she whispered, leaning in close, folding her hand more tightly into his and holding it to her chest. "I love you."

Yes…definitely should have gone with the fight.

"I uh…" he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry Kathy," he shook his head and pulled back. "I really am. I know that's what you want to hear." He paused and watched her face twist in anguish. "I just…I need a little more time."

She nodded, staring sort of blankly in front of her, and dropped her hand in her lap as she sank into the chair. "Sure," she said, her lip trembling. "Sure I understand."

The hurt in her eyes was unmistakably real and James, once again, almost felt guilty. But there wasn't a force in this world powerful enough to induce him to betray Snow. Still, regretful that he must cause anyone pain, he crouched down beside her. "Look…I remember…" he sighed, pinching his temples between his forefinger and thumb. "I remember that I…_did _feel that way. And I know how real that is for you."

She looked up at him, somewhat perplexed, though softened.

He continued. "I'm just…not there yet. Ok? I need to keep…finding my way."

Kathryn studied him for what seemed like a long while. But eventually she nodded, offering him a week smile and an affectionate, though far more chaste, pat on the cheek. Glancing up at the clock and then her watch, she sighed and turned to him once more. "Garcon's is on Beaumont Drive," she said simply. "Past the power station."

…

While he loathed the practice of making judgments based on class, wealth or status, James had to admit as he walked into Garcon's later that night that the place looked – indeed – a bit unsavory. The bar was probably the length of Snow's classroom and about half as narrow, immediately giving off a sort of cramped and shoved-together look. In fact, James was fairly certain that the suite of living space he and Snow had allocated to the each royal guardsman and his family was about twice the size of this public tavern. The actual bar itself was along the right wall, lined top and bottom with a brass rail and no visible places to sit, while several tall black tables and stools lined the left. The carpet was a dirty, rusted orange color which looked twice as filthy under the incredibly bright light beating down from a line of swag lamps hanging far too close to the customers' heads. He passed under one as he stepped further into the bar and jerked as it buzzed in his ear. To his right, a neon sign baring the establishment's name droned obnoxiously, and in front of the window was the bar's only booth in which a man and woman were passed out and propped up on either side of the table. James tipped his head down to see if he recognized either soul but their faces were hidden, so he moved on. Several men stood at the bar, heads cocked toward a small television mounted to the ceiling. Beyond it stretched a narrow hallway marked by a green exit sign down which, he supposed, were the stock rooms, back door and facilities. Gathered along the wall with the stools and tables were several small parties, most of whom were also watching the tv. James scanned the room and sighed. Where _was _he?

Some commotion erupted over the sports contest being broadcast and at that moment, movement across the room caught his eye, and he started as a young man emerged from the back room carrying a case of beer. He gulped hard, surprised by the tears that stung his eyes before he hastily shook them away. There he was. He was real. He was whole. He was Prince Thomas.

When James had last seen the young prince, Thomas had been comforting his wife, rejoicing in the seeming good fortune of having successfully captured Rumpelstiltskin. James would never forget the tears streaming down Ella's face as she barreled toward the prison wagon demanding to know where her Thomas was. The hours he and Grumpy had spent in the mines interrogating Rumpelstiltskin. The scouts he'd sent to the forest in search of his friend. How many times had he admitted to Snow that he believed the young prince forever lost…and yet, now, here he was.

A customer stopped Thomas on his way to the bar and he responded with a wink and a nod before resuming. Getting hold of himself, James walked up to the rail. What would he say to him? He really hadn't thought about it. Unlike his meeting that morning with Gepetto, he had no real plan, and he was struggling to come up with some sort of small talk when Thomas looked up.

The young man's eyes widened, and James could swear he saw a flicker of recognition as Thomas grinned. "Hey!" he said. He pointed over at James. "Um…er—" he snapped his fingers, shaking his head and then remembered, "_David_ right? David uh, Nolan?"

James halted. "Um…yeah. You-you know me?"

Realization dawned on the young man and he chuckled, slightly embarrassed. "Oh uh, no. Sorry, yeah that's probably confusing to someone with amnesia."

James cocked his head slightly, furrowing his brow.

"I saw you in the paper," he said, setting down the case behind the bar and reaching in to retrieve a bottle.

James's shoulder sank. The paper. Of course. "Yeah," he said with a light chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think _everyone _saw that paper."

He laughed, cracking open the bottle and handing it to one of his patrons. "Afraid you can't help _that_. Only one paper in town and you're pretty much the only story."

"Heh, yeah I guess."

"I'm Sean," he said, thrusting out his hand. James shook it immediately.

"Nice to meet you."

He gestured for James to take an empty space at the bar. "What'll you have?"

James shrugged off his jacket, tossed it on one of the stools along the wall and then stepped up to the rail. "Um, beer?"

Sean splayed his hands flatly in front of him. "LaBatt's? Heineken? Bud?"

James shrugged. He'd never had a taste for beer – never could understand the appeal it always held for Phillip and some of his other friends. And he couldn't for the life of him figure out how there'd come to be so many different _kinds _of the stuff. But he would put up with its bitter taste if it meant chatting longer with 'Sean'. "Bud's fine."

Sean nodded, reached down for a glass, and filled it to the rim. He was about to slide it over when something clearly troubling occurred on the TV and a scuffle broke out at the other end of the bar. A heavyset man with a thick goatee was gripping an empty bottle by its neck and flailing it around in another man's face. The shouting was so loud, James couldn't tell what the quarrel was about or how in the world it had erupted so fast. But the cause was irrelevant; the man raised the bottle threateningly over his head, and James gripped the rail, prepared to lunge for the man – when 'Sean' broke through the crowd, snatched the bottle from the man's grasp and yanked his hand down at the wrist, twisting his opponent's arm tightly behind his back. The men who'd been huddled around the fight sprang back from the young bartender who, despite being smaller in size, had total dominance of the situation. Keeping the man's wrist pinned behind his back, Sean gripped the guy's shoulder with his other hand and gave him a firm shake. "Walk it off," he muttered, though his directive was clear. After a few moments, the man's frame loosened, shoulders slumped, and he headed for the door without another word. The game watching resumed and 'Sean' took his place once more behind the bar.

"Sorry about that," he said, pushing James's drink in front of him. James didn't reply for he was suppressing a wide, brotherly grin, prompted by how swiftly his young friend had dealt with the disturbance without so much as a hiccup in his rhythm. He'd resumed his work as if the altercation were an everyday nuisance, having exerted clear authority with a firm and just hand…the hand of a prince.

"Not a problem," James managed eventually and took a swig of beer.

Sean drew his towel from over his shoulder and wiped down a few vacated spots along the bar. "So David," he said, glancing up James. "How is the uh, recovery going?"

"Ok so far," James replied. "All things considered."

Sean continued wiping. "You um…remembering anything?"

James shrugged. "A little."

He nodded, taking a plastic id card from his pocket and swiping it through an electronic kiosk. He punched a few keys on the pad in front of him and a receipt printed out. "A little's better than nothing, right?" he asked, retrieving a shot glass from the shelving behind him and putting James's receipt inside.

"I guess so," James said, "but it's…sorta slow going." Their conversation was insipid, James knew, but he had to start somewhere. Sean had no idea he was Prince Thomas and he wasn't about to open up with, "hey, guess what, you're a prince from another realm AND you went missing before the curse!"

Sean paused, glancing up at him again. "Well, how about your uh…" he hesitated, eyes darting up and down the bar as he did so. "Your wife?"

James drew back. "My wife?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I read in the paper your wife was bringing you home. Do you uh…are you remembering any of her?"

James cocked an eyebrow, finding the question somewhat odd, though he wasn't much surprised. Thomas had always been pretty direct. "Kind of," he said, swishing the beer around in his glass. "It's a…challenge," he added with a light chuckle, "getting to know your wife all over again."

"Tell me about it," Sean muttered, refilling a beer tang and sliding it in front of a beckoning customer.

"'Scuse me?"

Sean started, thought for a moment, and then sighed. "Well, she's not _really _my wife but…" he trailed off, willing to let the matter drop, but the look on his customer's face seemed to be urging him to continue…so he did. "My girlfriend, Ashley," he clarified. "She and I…well…she—we…just had a baby."

James feigned ignorance. "_Really?_"

"Yeah."

"Congratulations."

Sean let out a small chuckle. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck, straining it toward the ceiling as he continued. "The thing is – Ashley and I – we weren't…" He shook his head and sighed. "Well, when she was pregnant, we were…separated."

James closed his eyes, again thinking about Thomas's disappearance. Perhaps in his case, the curse might have provided a small blessing. After all, it _did_ release him from 'Stiltskin's entrapment and drag Thomas into Storybrooke with the rest of them.

"But when she had the baby, we…" Sean was looking past him now, distant…nostalgic. "We found each other again." He said the last bit more to himself, a tender smile spreading across his face. He took a deep breath and refocused on James. "Anyway, it's been _sort of _like…getting to know your wife all over again." He made a small, comparative gesture across the bar, acknowledging 'David Nolan's' similar predicament.

"Yeah, sure sounds like it," he replied, raising his glass in a sort of half toast. "Well congratulations again. What's her name?"

Sean opened his mouth to reply and then shut it, doing a double take as he peered at James. "How'd you know it's a 'her'?"

James gulped. "Uh…lucky guess?" Their eyes were locked and James thought he saw…something…a flash in his eye. But it was gone.

"Ah," Sean said after a moment. "Well, her name's Alexandra."

"Alexandra?" James repeated, smiling into his beer as he suppressed another knowing grin with a sip.

"Mmm hmm." Sean swiped his card through the reader again and added to his paperwork. "We call her Alex."

James nodded. "Very pretty."

"Heh," Sean rolled his eyes with a slight guffaw. "Ella didn't think so but—"

"What?" James snapped his head up, plopping his glass down with a loud clunk.

Sean jumped a bit, startled, and fumbled his reply. "Ashley," he clarified, though he said it as if covering a blunder, "didn't like the name at first."

James's eyes pierced into his friend's. Had he heard him wrong? Did he dare? "You just said…Ella," he said slowly, his voice hushed though taut as he leaned into the bar, gripping the handrail.

Sean's mouth hung open and he seemed almost hypnotically frozen. But eventually he shook his head with a nervous chuckle and waved his towel dismissively. "Sorry…I meant Ashley. There was…there was some girl in here earlier named Ella…I suppose the name just…you know…" he trailed off, starting to move away.

But instinct dominated James once again and he lunged across the bar, gripping the young man's wrist and pulling him forward. Whole minutes seemed to pass between them as they stared at one another, deadlocked. Each seemed on the brink of disclosure yet neither trusted himself to speak. Finally, his eyes narrowed and intense, James whispered in a low though harried voice: "_Thomas_?"

The man's eyes grew wide, his brow flying all the way up his forehead, and James felt his wrist slacken under his grip. Slowly, the young prince set the towel down on the bar and leaned into it, as if suddenly quite fatigued…and relieved. "_James_," Thomas hissed back. "Thank _God_."

…

*****As always, I'm so grateful you keep coming back for more. Special thanks to GoChlollie, Princesakarlita411, red lighting, xangels creationx, JuliaAurelia, quoththeraven5, and sooooo many others who keep reading and revisiting and giving such motivational reviews!**

**So just how much does young Thomas know? Stay tuned!*** **


	11. Yes

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Yes**

"What _happened_?" James asked as Thomas sidled into the opposite seat of Garçon's only booth. Such startling revelations couldn't possibly be expounded upon in detail at the bar. So once the game had ended and the crowd thinned, Thomas had called a cab for the drunk couple near the window and told James to wait.

James watched rather impatiently as the young prince updated everyone's tab, offered the remaining patrons a free round, and then joined him.

"You tell me," he countered, slapping something down on the table. "One minute I'm sitting next to Ella by the well. I go to fetch her some water and the next thing I know, I'm in some strange hospital room, she's _had _the baby and she's calling me Sean!"

James blew out a sigh, sinking against the red cushioned headboard of the booth. "So," he pointed at his friend. "You've known since the hospital?"

But the prince shook his head and leaned forward. "Known _what?_" he whispered fiercely. "James, what is going _on_?" He pointed to what he'd lain on the table which James now noticed was a copy of the newspaper heralding 'David Nolan's' miraculous recovery. "I would've gone to see you but this said you couldn't even remember your name."

James glanced down, staring at the image of a man he truly didn't recognize. He'd only been 'David' for a short time, and he resented the very name itself and all it represented.

"Is this 'Stiltskin's doing?" Thomas asked.

James blinked. "What?"

"The plan. When we entrapped him with that quill. Did it…did it backfire?"

James covered his mouth with his hand and then slid it up to his forehead, cradling his head in his palm. "'Stiltskin, oh no…Thomas no, this has nothing to do with 'Stiltskin. At least, not directly," he shook his head and added, "we don't think."

"We?" Thomas perked up. "You-you…you mean there are others?"

He took a deep breath. "Just Snow," he said, then gestured to his friend with a cocked eyebrow, "that we_ know_ of anyway."

Thomas's eyes rolled toward the ceiling, and collapsed into the leather seatback. "So that _was _Snow who came to the house last night. Ella told me the town schoolteacher paid us a visit. I thought about going to the school today to see her but I just…I didn't know if it was coincidence, or if she _knew_ or—"

"Yeah," James nodded. "Yeah she knows." He noticed the relief in the younger prince's face, but James was still perplexed. "She told me she'd seen Ella and the baby but—" he cleared his throat and froze as a customer stumbled by, pausing right by the booth and openly coughing and hacking towards the floor. The man was short and portly, wearing brown hobo gloves and a tattered brown and black checkered scarf around his neck. A scratchy black beard peeked out from beneath a dull, matted, flannel shirt and his face was half hidden by the ball cap dipped low on his head. Thomas took out a handkerchief and handed it to him, patting him on the back as the man continued to wheeze. Only when he turned to hand it back to the prince did James get a better glimpse of the sickly man's face. When he saw who it was, James nearly lunged out of his seat.

"Easy," Thomas whispered, thrusting his arm out to stop the elder prince as the vagrant moved slowly toward the door. They watched him go and Thomas looked warily back at his friend. "I've been…keeping an eye on him."

James had lost his voice and felt quite paralyzed as the man doddered away from them. Helpless, the prince could do nothing but watch…as Dopey left the bar. His throat went dry. "Where…" he croaked, swallowing hard. "Where does he go?"

Thomas frowned. "There's a shelter a little ways down the street. Sometimes he goes there."

"He's _homeless_?" James cried.

"Shh," Thomas pleaded, darting his eyes back and forth between James and his patrons. "Technically, no. He's not homeless. He's in assisted living, but it's a volunteer place. So he's not _required_ to stay there. He just..." he sighed, glancing back at the door. "He just…wanders."

James's hands tightened into fists and he clenched his teeth with renewed fury toward the queen. He didn't trust himself to speak for he knew the next words out of his mouth would be far too crass even for Garçon's. Dopey – alone and uncared for. Snow would go out of her mind.

Thomas waited patiently for his friend's temper to cool. Glancing back at the clock, and sweeping his gaze across the room once more, he took a deep breath and forced James to re-focus. "You were saying?"

The anger only slightly ebbed from his glare. "What?"

"About Snow."

James blinked a few times, and then finally sighed. "Right…She mentioned seeing Ella and the baby but she didn't tell me that you…well, I don't think she realized that you and Ella were…you know…_yourselves_."

At this, Thomas's face fell and he stared blankly at the paper in front of him. "We're not" he muttered. "At least…_she's _not."

James's eyes slid shut as Thomas confirmed what he'd already feared. _Tell me about it_, his friend had said before. _It's been sort of like…getting to know your wife all over again. _No wonder there were trace lines of aging and fatigue etched all over the young prince's face. He leaned forward. "You mean you're awake but Ella's not?"

Thomas took a deep breath, shaking his head and lifting his gaze to meet his friend's. Slowly and almost begging this time, he splayed his hands out in front of him and asked, "Awake…from…_what_? James, _what _is going _on_?"

James sighed, fully grasping – finally – just how awful it had been for the young prince. Thrust into this wretched world without a single ally, relying on newspapers and casual observation to make sense of a world that, quite frankly, was _without_ sense. He sucked in a breath and folded his hands atop the table. "Do you remember when I told you of the threat leveled at us by the queen?"

"At your wedding?"

"Yes." Thomas nodded. "We didn't know at the time what she was planning so we…" James paused, not wanting to admit what came next. But the young royal deserved to know, if only in order that he protect his family. "We brokered a deal with Rumpelstiltskin to find out the queen's plan."

"What?" Thomas shouted and this time, heads turned.

James waited on edge for the onlookers to return to their conversations before continuing in hushed but firm tones. "Believe me, it wasn't my idea. But Snow insisted. And that's when we learned of the curse." Thomas listened intently, ignoring the seething hatred that twisted in his gut as he thought of Rumpelstiltskin holding power over yet another person he held dear. When the tale was told, the depth and magnitude of the curse struck him as quite unfathomable.

"That's not possible," he hissed. "_One_ person _can't_ wield that much power."

"I agree. Which is why Storybrooke is in even more danger than we originally feared. As I told Snow, it must have taken a great deal of dark magic to affect this curse. So—"

"The queen isn't working alone."

James nodded. They were quiet for a few moments and he could see the wheels turning inside his young friend's mind as Thomas rested his chin thoughtfully in the heel of his palm and nervously drummed his fingers on the table. "What?" James asked.

He glanced up, halted the drumming and then slid his hand back with a sigh. "It's just that…I don't understand how you _and_ Snow can be…awake." He was struggling hard to keep the envy from his voice, but couldn't help the cruel sting in his heart as he muttered the rest. "You've _both_ been able to break the curse but…my Ella. She still sleeps."

James shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, pushing his back against the tough cushion as he tried to stretch out his cramping legs. "Snow and I restored our happy ending."

"And we _haven't_?" Thomas sprang forward, his youth showing through more and more as he glowered indignantly. "James I…I came _back_ to her. 'Stiltskin's contract tore me away but I still _found_ her. We're together again! And _still _she thinks she's this…this _Ashley _person. We—"

"When did you awaken?" James cut in, working to keep both their tempers and their voices in check.

"I told you, at the hospital."

"Yes but _when _exactly? At what moment?"

Thomas huffed and stared at the ceiling, leaning back as he revisited that glorious day in his head. Slowly, a gentle smile lit his face and he answered wistfully, "When I held my daughter." He glanced down again at James. "When Ella put Alexandra in my arms. That's when I woke up."

James's breath hitched, a knife-like twinge piercing his heart as he remembered the first and only time he'd held _his _baby girl. But he pushed it out of mind as quickly as he recalled it. "That's it then," he said. "Reunited with your family, safe and whole. That's _your _happy ending."

"But not Ella's?"

"Obviously not."

Thomas threw his hands up in the air. "_What_ then? I can't _stand_ seeing her like this, James. She…she's so…meek." He shook his head, the pain of knowing how much spark and spunk had gone out of his beloved wife overwhelming him too much to elaborate further. James reached forward, giving his friend's arm a supportive pat before withdrawing. Though he had not met 'Ashley' as she existed in Storybrooke, he had seen enough of what the curse had done to Snow's vivacious spirit in the shell of Mary Margaret. He could only imagine how the curse had reverted Thomas's already modest and humble wife to the timid, shy little thing Snow had described. "Snow seems to think," he offered cautiously, "that it has something to do with your father."

Though the comment was intended constructively, anger flashed in Thomas's eyes the likes of which James had not seen in the young prince since they first talked of plans to capture Rumpelstiltskin. "My _father_?" he seethed.

James physically jerked back from the table. He eyed his friend carefully, cocking an eyebrow. "I take it there have been…problems?"

Thomas actually, audibly snorted. "Oh no, no problems," he snapped. "Except that this curse of your _queen's_ turned my_ father_ into a _dick_."

Despite Thomas's obvious anguish, James chocked back a laugh. "You uh…" he cleared his throat. "You certainly have a handle on the vernacular, your Highness."

Thomas waved him off dismissively. "The perks of working in a _bar_, James," he countered, gesturing toward it. "The expletives _here_ are far more _accurate_." He shook his head in disbelief, staring at the tabletop. "The things he _said_…the things he _called _her."

James gulped, shuddering at the fact that the curse had been powerful enough to drive a wedge between Thomas and the king. He had never seen a father so close, so dedicated to his son's happiness as Christopher.

"I had not thought my father capable of such contempt…such…filth." Thomas added, his voice quieter than before though no less seething. James didn't dare ask what exactly had been said about Ella. The prince's rage was explanation enough. "As soon as I..._woke up,_ I went to him. Told him about Ella and the baby. Tried to explain everything as best I could."

James nodded. "But?"

"Well I didn't really understand what was going on yet, did I? And he wasn't listening anyway. Kept prattling on about how _that girl _is 'ruining my future'." He leaned forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his forehead. "Since when are our children _not _our _future_, James?" he cried. "What kind of world _is _this? Where children are seen as burdens and the women who bore them accused of debauchery and…and deceit?" James cringed. Had the king _truly_ intimated that Ella was some sort of wanton harpy looking to trap his friend? Thomas continued, curling his palm into a fist atop the table. "Siring a child here at my age? They call that a _mistake. _And my father actually wanted to _pay _someone _else _to deal with that 'mistake'!"

"It's not your father, Thomas. It's the curse," James urged, his low and steady voice an intended warning that they were getting too loud.

"Isn't it though?" he asked. "We're all the same _basic _people. _You_ didn't turn _evil _did you?"

"No but neither did Christopher," James countered. "The curse seems to suppress our strengths while enhancing our weaknesses. You said so yourself. Ella _is _different."

Thomas let out a sort of inaudible grunt but nodded.

"Think," James continued, leaning forward again. "Did your father _ever_, even in the minutest sense, express doubt or concern over your marrying a commoner?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Of course he did. _Everyone _did," he paused and then nodded to his friend. "Except, well…_you_…and Snow."

James gave him a grateful smile.

"But I'm telling you, that _all _went away when he _met _her. My father _loved _Ella. He could see that she made me happy and he loved her as if she was his own daughter."

"But he _did _have doubts," said the elder prince. "Those doubts are what the curse has clearly amplified. That's what we need to overcome."

Thomas was about to ask how when the swinging door arrested their attention. He twisted around and James straightened up as a sudden gust of late November wind blew through the door, heralding the entrance of a beautiful young woman. "Sean, I'm back!" she said, out of breath, and pulled off her white wool cap. James gasped.

Though her features were half covered by the waves of brown curls tumbling around her shoulders and the feathery blue scarf around her neck, her face – and more significantly her voice – was unmistakable.

"How is he?" Thomas was asking while James could do nothing but gape.

The woman walked over to the booth, unknotting her scarf and unzipping an old, smudged white parka. "A little better. Thank you so much for letting me run home," she shook her head and, for the first time, glanced at Sean's new friend. "I can't believe I had his pills in my purse," she laughed at her blunder, looking back and forth between the two men.

Thomas finally remembered an introduction was warranted and cleared his throat. "Oh, sorry. Ja – uh – David," he recovered as James shot him a glare. "David this is Rose. Rose? David Nolan. Storybrooke's resident—"

"John Doe, of course," Rose nodded with a smile, pointing at the paper still lying on their table. "We read all about you."

"Everyone has," James managed, finally finding his voice.

"Lovely to meet you," she said, pulling off her scarf and thrusting out her hand.

James grasped it immediately and was not at all surprised to find that she still had a firm and confident handshake. "Likewise."

She held his gaze for a moment, and James saw the beginnings of that vague glassy 'Storybrooke-curse-look' he was growing accustomed to. But she shook her head, dropped her hand and turned back to her coworker. "I see the game ended."

"Yeah," Thomas glanced around. "I gave everyone left a free round."

"A free round?" she snorted, shrugging off her coat. "I bet Jack's gonna _love_ that."

Thomas scoffed. "He can take it out of my pay for all I care. For once, they've been quiet." Rose glanced around the bar and confirmed the status quo with a nod. "Well, thanks again for covering," she turned toward James. "My father's been sick and I left the house with his medicine in my purse."

"Is he ok?" James asked.

Rose looked down with a sad smile. "He has…good days and bad days."

James glanced at Thomas who confirmed his friend's suspicions with a nod. "Have you uh…" James continued. "Have you been working here long?"

She heaved a tired sigh and gave a sort of half grin. "Yeah. For years. As long as I can remember really." She seemed saddened by this admission but then shrugged. "It pays the bills though." She turned to her fellow bartender. "Go home," she ordered. "You were supposed to be off twenty minutes ago."

"I told you," Thomas insisted, leaning forward. "It's not a problem."

She smiled gratefully, draped her coat over her arm, and turned from them. "Nice to meet you," she called back and disappeared to the stock room.

Jaw dropped and eyes wide, James slowly turned back to Thomas who was nodding…sadly. "_She_ works in a _tavern_?"

"Oh it gets better," Thomas cringed, as if he'd been holding off on admitting this particular truth all night. "Guess who _owns _this place."

For a moment, James couldn't guess. But the young prince's leveled gaze spoke volumes and the answer crashed into him like a tidal wave. "No!" he cried. "'_Jack'_ is—"

"Yep."

"She works for _him_?"

Thomas nodded.

"Is he _here?_" James pointed down at the table, prepared to fly to his feet and search out the bastard that had caused their friend such hassle.

"No," Thomas said hurriedly. "No not tonight."

He relaxed only slightly and shook his head, glancing back at the bar where Rose was now seeing to the remaining customers' tabs. "I gather her father is sick again?"

Thomas nodded. "For as long as…" he stopped himself, then rolled his eyes as he realized the curse-born phrase coming out of his mouth, "for as long as she can remember."

James folded his hands in front of him and he worked to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he asked the next necessary question. "I don't suppose you know where…or even _who _Adam is?"

Thomas shook his head. "I haven't seen him." He nodded toward Rose, "and she hasn't mentioned anyone like him either." He paused, his own unspoken fears about their friend's fate also coming to light. "I'm…I'm scared for him James. This curse…it seems to send people…backwards. Ella is a maid again. You…you're with Abigail."

"Yeah?"

"So if it's done the same to Adam then…then he could be—"

"A beast again, I know," James acknowledged the same fear and sighed. "Which means he could be anyone or…really any_thing_ for all we know."

Thomas glanced up at Rose and sighed. "We have…a _lot _of happy endings to restore."

James also looked back at the young brunette. "Rose," he said thoughtfully. "That's…oddly appropriate."

But the younger prince jerked back and crossed his arms. "There's nothing '_appropriate'_ about _Belle_ working for _Gaston_."

"I know, I just meant—"

"Or Ella being afraid of my father. Or Dopey living without his brothers—"

"Thomas!" James hissed, grasping his wrist across the table, stilling the outrage that had been brewing inside his young friend all night. Glaring into his hurt, frustrated eyes, it pained James to think of what Thomas had been forced to bear solely on his shoulders. And he wondered, not for the first time tonight, who else in Storybrooke might also be awake and completely on their own, unsure of who to trust. "We have work to do, yes," he said, affecting a calm and steady tone despite his own worries. "But remember what I told you when we were waiting in the trees for Rumpelstiltskin."

Thomas glanced up, glowering but quiet.

"_Good_ _can't lose_."

"Right," he scoffed. "And right after that, the contract was sealed and I was ripped away from Ella."

"Yes and you were returned to your wife's bedside with your baby girl in your arms and _her_ whole life still in front of her," James countered in a voice so sharp that Thomas started and, for the first time, realized that James had not said a word about…his _own _child all night. James sucked in a deep breath, slackened his grip on Thomas's wrist and began again. "We're going to fix it. We're going to fix _all _of it," he promised. Thomas held his gaze, staring doubtfully, but at last acquiesced and sank back once more. "Now tell me more about your father," James continued. "I think I have an idea."

…

Thomas arrived at his home on Barbarac Lane in higher spirits than he could ever remember being in Storybrooke. His had been an exceptionally trying journey, for he was still trapped in limbo, bound by Rumpelstiltskin's contract, when the queen enacted her spell. Condemned by his own fateful words that night in the mines, he had sworn to Ella, should there be a price to pay for using the magic they intended to wield, that _he_ would be the one to pay it. And pay it he did, for the kingdom had searched high and low for their prince for many weeks after his disappearance, ceasing only when the curse was imminent, and all their fates were similarly doomed.

The curse, however, had clearly nullified 'Stiltskin's hold over Thomas, pulling him from the sorcerer's clutches and plunging him into the persona of Sean Herman. Yanked right from limbo, he had been especially susceptible to queen's magic, joining Storybrooke almost zombie-like, the mere shell of the strong, young and confident royal he had been. Rumpelstiltskin's power colliding with the queen's had wreaked havoc on the poor prince's constitution, reducing him to one of the weakest, dependent young men in the community, catering to the every wish and whim of his father, and wholly without backbone as 'Sean'. So when _Thomas_ had emerged in the hospital, awoken by the poignant and cathartic reunion with his wife and daughter, the disorientation was acute and – unlike James or Snow – Thomas didn't fully remember the entirety of his existence as 'Sean' right away. Gradually, he pieced together recollections of the whole of Storybrooke and, with each memory, grew more and more disgusted with himself for his alter-ego's behavior toward Ella.

Fully recovered and at _last _himself, Thomas became determined that Ella _never _again be made to feel unwanted or unloved. She had been through enough of that with her step mother and sisters, and had certainly endured more than her share of grief in the 28 years she'd spent as Ashley – the unwed, pregnant maid. It still sickened Thomas to think about it to this day, but he'd resolved to make things right again. And now, with his dearest and most trusted friends also restored, he finally felt he might actually have a chance.

So it was with a lighter heart and an extra bounce in his step that he pushed through the front door of their tiny home that night after concluding his meeting with James. "Ashley?" he called out softly, though deliberately (he'd spent the entire drive home mentally reminding himself to call her 'Ashley' after an entire evening of referring to her as Ella). There was no answer and the house was dark, though when he halted in the door frame and listened, he could hear little Alex squirming and shifting against the soft vinyl lining of her playpen as she dreamed. Gently, Sean closed the door, shrugged his jacket off into a nearby chair, and crept across the living room, crouching down beside the playpen and peering over the bar to gaze at his sleeping babe. She was…perfect. Tiny. Precious. And theirs.

As he watched her little chest rise and fall, her tiny hands curling tightly to the edge of an old Winnie The Pooh blanket, he laughed at himself, remembering a time not so long ago when children and wives and families held zero interest for him. His father had insisted on throwing him that ball upon his return from his travels; he had been quite prepared to sneak out after the first minuet. And then…_she _showed up.

As if on cue, a door quietly creaked open behind him. Thomas turned toward the short hallway beyond the kitchen and caught his breath. Standing before him, looking blithe and willowy in a teal chiffon dressing gown, was the very picture of an angel. "You're home," she whispered in relief as she stretched and yawned. "I was starting to worry."

Perhaps it was the confidence he had in James's plan; perhaps it was the glorious thought that his wife might soon be fully restored to him…or it could just be those doe eyes of hers, pools of love and affection swimming with concern over the lateness of his arrival. But whatever the reason, Thomas suddenly could not contain his adoration, and in one swift movement, he straightened up, crossed the living room, cupped her face between his palms and kissed her.

Shocked by the sheer speed with which he'd moved, Ashley's eyes flew open and she froze mid-stretch as Sean slid his fingers into the soft blonde curls at her nape and deepened the kiss. In the few weeks since they'd been back together, he had been gentle with her…almost too gentle actually – handling her as though she were as fragile as a china doll. She had told herself that he was respecting her space, being cautious and patient, allowing her time to grow accustomed to his being around again. They had, after all, been separated for her entire pregnancy, and he was not the kind of man to be presumptuous. But in truth…it had frustrated her. And she had spent several lonely nights, while he worked late at Garçon's and she cared for their daughter, fearful that the pressures of fatherhood and bread-winning had dulled the passion and fervor he once felt for her.

Now, those doubts were quickly evaporating and, recovered from her initial shock, she closed her eyes and melted against him. He captured her lips again and again with his own, alternating between long, heated kisses and soft brushes at the corners of her mouth. She sucked in a breath and whimpered as she relaxed her arms against his chest and slid her hands up to grip his shoulders.

Her familiar moan ignited him all over again and he moved to wrap his arm around her waist, his firm grip keeping her upright for he could tell her knees had gone quite weak. She was positively trembling with need, and he was panting like a youth at a maypole festival when he finally pulled away, catching her wrist in his other hand and holding it to his heart. Kissed senseless, it took a few moments before his Ella opened her eyes again.

"What," she said breathlessly, finally blinking her eyes open, her lids heavy as if she had just woken from a dreamy sleep. "What was _that _for?" With her free hand she clung to him and wondered, indeed, if she was dreaming.

"For—" he rasped, his voice catching in his throat. He struggled for the right thing to say. Everything he wanted to reveal to her, he knew he couldn't. Not yet. It wasn't time. And James had warned him to be patient. Still, gazing into the loving eyes of his wife, the mother of his child, he felt as if a tightly coiled spring had just burst free in his heart and he could no longer contain his ardor. "For taking me back," he said finally. And he was rewarded with a grin.

"Mmm," she purred, whispering against his cheek. "I did that _weeks_ ago."

He flashed her a warning look and, with a playful growl, bent down and scooped her up in his arms as if she were lighter than air. She shrieked as he gathered her against his chest, and she hastened a glance over at the playpen, checking that their daughter still slept soundly through her parents'…er…discussion. "I know," Sean said, recapturing her gaze. "But I don't think I ever thanked you…properly."

Thomas could feel her shiver against him as he said it, and in her eyes she saw the same emotional release he'd felt at their embrace. He dipped his head down to hers, claiming her once more with a kiss, but this one was slow and simmering, and Ella practically went limp in his arms, though she clutched tiny fists of his tee-shirt in her hands as he cradled her. The folds of her robe had parted at her waist and draped down to the floor, pooling in soft puddles around Thomas's feet that he avoided carefully as he carried her down the hallway to their room, his mouth all the while never leaving hers. Turning slightly, he backed into the door, using his shoulder to nudge it open further. Once inside, he stopped at the foot of the bed and sat her down gently on the blue quilt folded there–the quilt that Granny and Red had given them when they first moved in. He knelt in front of her, resting his elbows on either side of her tiny waist and took her hands in his, kissing her fingertips as he gazed up at her. "I love you," he whispered.

Staring down at him, overwhelmed by the pure love in his eyes and the reverence in his touch, Ashley could barely breathe. She couldn't fathom what had prompted this renewed fire in her beau…but she wasn't about to question it. "I love you too."

Thomas took a deep breath, nervous suddenly, though he knew there was no real reason to be. The plan was simple, but brilliant. And if it worked, Storybrooke would have at least _two _more allies in the fight against the queen. Still, its eventual success depended upon what would be said between them in these next few moments. Bracing himself for her reaction, he leaned forward and whispered… "Marry me."

Ashley's expression went from amorous to panicked in two seconds flat, though Sean seemed undeterred by her distress. "What?" she cried, "I—"

"Marry me," he repeated, squeezing her hands, refusing to let her gaze drop.

"Sean, are you crazy? We don't have the money to get married. And your father—"

"Don't worry about that," he cut in, and the fact that his voice remained calm and steady almost shocked her more than the proposal itself. "Don't think of money or my father or—" he sighed, finally breaking eye contact and looked down, smoothing the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her hands. "I know you've been…unhappy."

She started, and tried to pull away, though he held her there. "What? No! I—"

"Because you think that _I'm _unhappy," he looked back up at her. Ella bit her bottom lip but didn't respond. "But I _promise _you," he said, rising from the floor and tucking one knee beneath him as he sat next to her on the bed. "I'm _not_. And I need you to believe that."

Ashley stared at their clasped hands and frowned. "I…I do."

But Thomas shook his head and lifted one hand to trace the soft curve of her jaw. "No you don't," he said. "And I _hate _it that I've given you reason to believe this isn't gonna last."

She bit her lip again, unable to conceal the sting of truth in his words. She _had_, she thought guiltily, occasionally feared that Sean might one day think he'd make a mistake in coming back to her. That he may finally be swayed by his intractable father and leave her again.

"Look at me," he ordered softly, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze. "I'm not going _anywhere_."

His voice, soothing yet intense, set butterflies to flight in her stomach. And for reasons she could not explain, Mary Margaret's words suddenly rang clear in her head: _Sean loves you and he loves your daughter…And true love doesn't come easy in this town…what more could he want? _

He leaned forward, cupping her cheek in his hand and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Do you love me?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said, her pulse racing.

He continued to caress her, pressing kisses to her temples and the corners of her eyes. "Do you _trust _me?" he rasped, his breath hot against her cheek.

"Yes," she said breathlessly.

He pulled back from her, his face mere inches away from hers. "Then marry me."

She swallowed hard, unable to believe the constancy of his eyes, the absolute devotion in his touch. She couldn't fathom how he'd done it…but any doubts she still had about them, about their future…were gone. She reached up and brushed the back of her hand along his cheek, her eyes glistening with tears and whispered…"Yes."

…

*****Ok….sooooooo….here's the deal: I know we've been teased through spoilers about certain characters coming on the show very soon, and I intend to keep as close to canon with respect to those characters as they're revealed. But as this version of Storybrooke develops in my head, I find I can't help myself in introducing them early or differently than we may or may not eventually see them. James and Snow are speaking to me. I'm just writing down what they say!**

**So be prepared to see more dwarfs, more Belle, and quite possibly the whole cast of Sleeping Beauty down the line! Hope you enjoyed this little glimpse at Thomas and Ella. Stay tuned!*****


	12. The Status Quo

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**The Status Quo**

"_Oh, don't worry dear. In a few moments, you won't remember you knew him, let alone loved him."_

"_Why did you do this?"_

"_Because this is _my _happy ending!"…_

Regina started awake, arms outstretched and hands splayed open as they had been when she'd stood before Princess Snow and her dying prince, reveling in the torrential winds and cyclones that swept through the highest tower of King Leopold's summer palace as The Dark Curse assailed them with deadly force. Her mouth curled into a wicked smile and she licked her lips, stretching her arms up over her head and yawning like a kitten napping in the afternoon sun. Last night had been an evening of many triumphs. Predictably, dinner had gone off without a hitch, erasing any trace of the prince she'd seen bleeding through David's psyche. His disgustingly sweet display of affection toward Kathryn by the end of dessert was evidence enough of her success, for Regina knew that Snow's annoyingly virtuous and honorable Prince Charming could never have brought himself to betray her so openly. Yes, the queen's curse-laden apples had done the trick once again, eliminating the risk that 'David's' amnesia posed to the status quo. _That _part of the evening went exactly as planned and alone would have been enough to satisfy the queen. But she'd never imagined the extra bonus of having resolved an issue brewing with Graham – an issue of which she'd not even been aware but had quelled practically before it truly became serious. _His _midnight return to her bed last night was confirmation enough that all was well in Storybrooke. And while she still intended to find out just how Graham seemed to have briefly recalled _some _memories, Regina actually found herself whistling through her morning routine and all the way to her office.

Climbing the white, pristine colonial staircase at city hall, Regina felt more confident and more at ease than she had since Emma Swan first arrived in town. Emma herself seemed just a minor nuisance now, and despite her early worries, seemed completely oblivious to the fact that any of Henry's mutterings were in the slightest bit true. Her son continued to be simply, a pitied, over-imaginative boy – just as Regina liked it.

Yes, things were going (to quote a particularly vicious associate of hers) _swimmingly_. So as she briskly arrived at her second floor office, punched in the security code on the alarm pad and keyed into her room, she was not at all prepared for what greeted her on the other side.

"G'morning Madame," came a deep voice from the corner of her office, lurking in the shadows behind her bookcase.

Though the evil queen was hardly one to shriek in terror, the unwelcome visitor startled her and she whirled around, her hands raised instantly to the offensive, poised out of habit to unleash a deadly torrent of fire from her palms.

"Ah ah ah," the voice 'tsked' as the figure stirred from the shadows and a thin man emerged from his haven. "You know better than that your Majesty," he continued. "Your magic…works differently here."

Finally recognizing the sly figure of a man before her, Regina lowered her hands at once, rolled her eyes, and continued to her desk as if the intrusion were as trivial as having found a mouse under the mat. "How did you get in here?" she muttered, pulling off her leather gloves and tossing them carelessly on the desk.

"A man of my talents may pick any lock, my queen," the lean man replied. "A fact of which you are well aware else you would not have conscripted my services."

Her eyes narrowed but she found herself ill-equipped to argue. "Very well," Regina muttered, gesturing for her visitor to have a seat in the tall-backed chair opposite her desk. "What news do you bring from the West End, and I warn you—" she paused, whirling on him before she took her own seat, "—I have had a _very _pleasant morning, so what you have to say had better not upset me."

The man grinned, pressing a finger to his pursed lips and cocking his head to the side as he laid his other hand on the back of the guest chair. "Now how does that old adage go? Something about…oh…killing the messenger?"

"Get to the point," she snapped. "Is it the boys?"

The man sighed, shaking his head. He was thinner than he'd been when Regina had last seen him, but not unhealthily so. His face was pleasant enough: still youthful, with angular features, a long sharp nose and jet black hair slicked back on his head. In his hand was a cane, though not one required for medical or therapeutic use. It was merely a style choice, one that normal people in normal times might have thought outdated or out of place. People in Storybrooke, however, didn't know any better. Regina watched as the man delved a slender hand in his pocket and withdrew a pocket watch, equally anachronistic, yet acceptably fitting with his countenance. He compared the readout on his time piece to the clock on Regina's wall, nodded, and snapped it shut. "No, it's not to do with the boys," he shook his head. "Although, as we had feared when the clock started moving, a few of their voices have dropped, and two of them have been caught entertaining ideas about…leaving."

The queen leaned forward, her hands pressed tightly against the surface of the desk. "And what did you tell them?"

The man waved her off with a dismissive, yet confident grin. "The truth, your Majesty," he replied, enjoying the suspense he knew he was creating. "That if they ever escaped, they would be killed."

A slow smile spread across her face, and she relaxed once more against the back of her chair. "How very…_honest_ of you…_John_."

"Well," said John, slipping into the chair across from her, laying his cane across his lap. "I do have a name to uphold."

"Indeed," she muttered, flipping open the cover of her laptop and watching the status bar crawl across the screen while the machine started up. "Well?" she peered over the top of the screen and glared expectantly at her fellow deviant. "What is it then?"

John propped his elbow comfortably on the armrest and took to inspecting his cuticles. "You asked to be informed if anything…unusual happened with our new friend at Garçon's."

Eyes like daggers, she glared up at him. That simpering little weasel of a royal had never given her much cause for concern in all their years in Storybrooke. But the reported rift between Sean Herman and his father had certainly been a departure from Regina's precious status quo, and when he'd shown up tending bar at Garcon's, claiming he was working to support his new family, the queen had assigned John the case at once. "Well?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Sensing he was close to a throttling, John decided to cooperate, straightened up in his chair, and cleared his throat. "Last night a man came in who seemed to know the young prince. They clasped hands like brothers – thick as thieves they were."

Regina drew sharp breaths in and out her nose as she gripped her arm rest. "Is that…so."

John nodded. "They spoke in hushed tones and were careful not to be heard, but they talked for hours. Prince Thomas even gave his patrons a free round so that we might leave them to their discourse."

"And the name of this man?" the queen demanded.

John braced himself against the back of the chair, knowing the wrath he was sure to unleash once he'd confirmed what the queen herself had already guessed. Still, he couldn't help saying it with a sardonic grin as he replied, "I believe here he is called…David."

…

Every day Emma Swan spent in Storybrooke felt a little stranger, a little more surreal than the day before. In the past month or so, she had been found by her son, threatened by the mayor, incensed by the sheriff, and perplexed by her roommate. Emma was not the type of woman who stayed up all night with a girlfriend chatting about men and children and life. She was not the type to even _have _a roommate and yet, talking with Mary Margaret had had a calming effect on her that was at the same time unnerving. For unlike the past, when what she'd seen and observed of Graham would have simply prompted her to kick him in the groin and move on to another town, her discussion with Mary left her in this strange state of sagacity. Mary had forced her to address the feelings she'd been having for the town sheriff and helped her recognize the very subtle levels of grey where before Emma had only ever seen black and white. So when she pulled into her parking space at the station and saw Graham's brown and white squad car, the urge she might have once had to run away had been replaced by an atypical willingness to stay.

The station house was quiet as she approached her desk. She peered through the glass pane walls of Graham's office and noted immediately that he was not there. Glancing around at the empty jail cell, the wall of file cabinets and the maintenance closet at the other end of the lobby, there seemed to be no sign of him despite the presence of his squad car in the parking lot. She pulled out her cell phone to text him when she heard the doors whoosh open and the familiar clunk of his boots thud across the tile. She spun around and resisted the urge to smirk.

There he stood looking as devilishly _Irish _as usual, curly hair swept back off his face, his entire appearance much more…put-together than she had seen him in days. He was holding a carrying carton with two coffee cups from Granny's in his right hand and a bag of what she assumed to be pastries in his left. His sheepish expression coupled with the rather pathetic stance that begged for her forgiveness should have annoyed her. But all she could do was snort and roll her eyes. "One of those better be cocoa," she said at last.

He glanced down at the drinks, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he privately cheered that he'd remembered she liked cocoa. "With cinnamon," he added, walking over to the desk and twisting the tray on his wrist so her drink was facing her. She plucked it from the carton and took a sip.

"Thanks," she muttered. The two stared at each other with all the awkwardness of two teenagers after an angst-filled spat.

"Look," Graham cleared his throat, finally breaking eye contact as he set the tray down on her desk and dropped the bag of pastries with a soft plop. "I uh…I'm still a might fuzzy on what uh…what exactly has been going on the past few days."

Emma looked back up at him and noticed that, indeed, his eyes looked a little fuzzy – though not as glassy as they had last night after leaving Regina's. "Don't worry about it," she brushed him off and took a sip of cocoa.

"It's just that—" he came around the other side of the desk, intent on being heard— "I know I've done some pretty…inappropriate things and I would hate for us to be—"

But Emma stopped him there. "Graham, there is no _us_. That was pretty clear last night."

His face fell, though he did not argue. How could he? He didn't remember much…but he remembered _that_. All morning Graham had been trying to figure out exactly how he'd wound up at Regina's door, sharing a meal with David Nolan and his wife. The whole ordeal was a haze to him…all except for that disgusted look on Emma's face after he'd been caught, yet again, leaving the mayor's residence. "I know," he said softly. "I-I didn't mean to…hurt you."

"You didn't," she replied briskly, though she shivered a bit at the pain in his eyes. Mary Margaret had been right. That blasted woman's pull on the sheriff was stronger than the poor guy even realized. "Look, you _clearly _weren't…yourself the past few days," she offered.

Graham nodded sadly, "Doctor Whale told me I had some sort of rare 48 hour bug."

Emma scoffed. There was something about Doctor Whale she didn't trust. Then again, Mary _did_ say Graham had looked feverish and disoriented. "Let's just forget about it," she said, plopping down on her swivel chair, snatching the bag of pastries off her in-tray and retrieving a powdered doughnut.

He blinked a few minutes, unsure what to say next. Nervously, he scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "So…you're gonna…stick around?"

She whirled on him. "What?"

"You…aren't gonna quit?"

Her brow creased. "Why would I do _that_?"

Graham released a sigh, realizing for the first time that he'd been holding his breath. "Well, I wouldn't want you…to be…uncomfortable."

Emma stared at him, unblinking. Was he serious? "Graham," she stood up again, leveling his gaze. "I don't _pretend_ to understand whatever this twisted thing is between you and Regina—"

"It's not what you—"

"And frankly, I don't care," she added. Graham's face fell but he didn't continue. "I'm here for _Henry_," she said pointedly. "So whatever this—" she shook her hand back and forth in front of him – "_thing _is with you two just…keep it out of the office. Got it?"

Graham stood rather stupidly in front of her for a few moments. This was _not_ how this conversation had gone in his head this morning. Then again, he wasn't sure _what_ he was expecting really, or what he wanted. He supposed it had been too much to hope that they might…start over. He certainly remembered the feel of Emma's lips against his. _That_ was a memory this dreaded virus apparently hadn't adulterated. But everything after that point was quite cloudy in his head…and he could still feel Regina's pull, her desires. Inexplicably attuned to her urges, he'd found himself once again returning to her bed late last night. Try as he may, he couldn't shake her. And perhaps it was for this very reason that he ultimately decided to just be thankful for Emma's truce and reprieve. After all, what more did he have a right to hope for? "Deal," he said at last, and turned toward his office.

The morning passed quite without incident after that with both sheriff and deputy fielding calls and filling out reports on various nuisances throughout Storybrooke. Graham and Emma were just reviewing an agenda of sorts for the day, dividing up the complaints each would investigate…when the mayor herself burst through the doors.

"Graham, I need a word!" she barked and then started, seeing Emma seated on her chair with the sheriff perched on the desktop beside her. Regina recovered quickly, though she was still having trouble remembering that the dreaded girl now actually _worked _here.

"Regina," Graham jumped to his feet, his face flushed with embarrassment given the 'deal' he'd just made with Emma few hours before. "What's uh…what's the problem?"

The mayor glanced between the sheriff and his deputy. "I need a word—" she gave Emma thin smile— "in private."

Emma shook her head in mild disgust, swiveled out from behind her desk, and started walking away.

"Emma, wait," Graham said. "Regina, is this sheriff business?"

Regina had the gall to act offended at the implication that it might be anything else. "Would I _be _here otherwise?" she sneered.

"Then whatever you have to say you can say in front of my deputy. The business of this office concerns her too."

Emma turned slowly back to the pair, eyebrows raised as she looked up at Graham. He glanced sideways at her and gave her a slight nod which for some annoying reason, made Emma smile. Both then turned to the mayor who, somewhat taken aback by Graham's ballsy retort, was glaring at him contemptuously.

Any other day, she might have dragged the sheriff by the ear back to his office and threatened his very livelihood, but the danger Regina's visitor portended this morning left little time or room to object to the _pest _problem that was Emma Swan. Besides, she had a feeling that this woman was just as distrusting of men as she was, which would serve this particular errand well. "Fine," Regina waved her hand dismissively. "I suppose she will have to help you with this anyway."

"What happened?" Emma asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Regina glared at her, then – pointedly – turned fully to Graham. "I'm here at the request of Kathryn Nolan."

Emma's whole body went stiff. "As in David Nolan?" she asked, her interest piqued.

Regina turned. "Yes, Miss Swan. I want him followed."

"What?" Graham asked, incredulous. "What for?"

"Mrs. Nolan is quite concerned for her husband. He was spotted in West End last night."

"The same chap who was at your house for dinner last night?" asked the sheriff.

"Spotted by who?" Emma added.

Regina rolled her eyes. "Does it matter, Deputy? A close friend of both mine and Kathryn saw him late last night wandering into Garçon's bar, dealing with some highly…suspicious characters. She's very concerned that he will lose his bearings again as he continues to recover his memory, and she cannot keep track of him all the time."

"I thought he _had _recovered his memory," he countered, remembering the jubilant blonde at the manor last night, simply bubbling over with excitement that her husband had finally remembered their wedding day.

"He _has_, but only in part."

"So you want me to follow him," Graham angled his head thoughtfully, thumbs tucked through his belt loops, his brow still furrowed in confusion.

"Yes," she hissed as if her request were perfectly reasonable.

"Regina, I can't justify tailing someone simply because his wife doesn't want him hanging out in a _bar_. She'll need a private detective for that."

"The charter states," she countered shrewdly, "that this office is charged with the responsibility of protecting the citizens of Storybrooke, is it not?"

"Protecting them from what, _alcohol_?" he asked with a slight chortle. "Unless there's suspicion of wrongdoing, we can't harass an innocent man."

Regina started to fume. "For God's sake, Graham," she spluttered. "I don't want you to _arrest _him. I don't even want you to _talk _to him. Just follow him and make sure that he's…where he should be." She was not accustomed to this much opposition from the sheriff. Privately, she wondered if she should have offered him another slice of pie.

"_Is _there suspicion of wrongdoing?" came Emma's voice into the middle of the quarrel.

Regina started and, for the first time, really _looked_ at Emma. What she saw surprised…and then impressed her. Emma was…curious – no, she thought. On _alert_. Could it be they shared a common enemy in 'David'? "No," she treaded carefully. "But in the case of police protection," she turned back to Graham, "it is ordered when one is a danger to himself or to others. And is he not a danger to himself if he's wandering around West End where he doesn't belong?"

Graham looked between the two and was startled to find no opposition or doubt in Emma's expression. Sensing suddenly that he was outnumbered , he threw his hands up in surrender and conceded. "Fine. We'll tail him for a few days and report any…sordid activity."

"Good," Regina replied. Without another word, she spun on the heels of her black stilettos and clacked out of the station.

Graham shook his head, blew out a sigh, and picked up the clipboard on which he and Emma had drawn up the day's list of complaints. "Looks like you'll have to handle all of these today."

Absently, she took the clipboard, but was staring in the direction where Regina had just stalked out. "Why?" she asked, leaning against the edge of the desk.

"You heard the mayor," he grabbed his keys and pulled on his jacket. "I have to spend my entire day following this poor chap around."

Emma glanced down at the clipboard in her hand, tapping the edge of it against the crease of her palm. "You don't think it's strange that he ended up in West End?"

He shook his head. "It's a _pub, _Emma. Men like pubs."

"But you said he'd regained some of his memory last night. Don't you think he'd rather be at home with his wife?"

He looked at her, increasingly curious at the singular interest Emma had in this case. In fact, now that he thought of it, she'd prickled up as soon as Regina mentioned David's name. "Emma, the guy's just come out of a coma. He's confused, sure. But he's not a 'danger' to himself. Regina's just…overreacting."

Finally, Emma looked up at him. "You think so?"

He sighed. "Yes. Regina doesn't have…many friends. In fact, Kathryn Nolan is probably the first real friend she's had since—"

"Since _you_?" Emma countered, unable to help herself.

Graham looked down, though he wasn't surprised by the comment. He certainly deserved it. "She's just…over-cautious."

Emma continued to mull it over in her head. The expression on Regina's face didn't _look _over-cautious. In fact, she looked downright pissed, and seemingly threatened by news of David's activity in Garçon's. Perhaps she too had seen David with Henry and worried what his motives might be. As much as she hated to admit it, she and the mayor, it seemed, shared the same trepidation over Storybrooke's recovering amnesiac. "I'll do it," she pushed herself off the edge of the desk, coming to a decision.

Graham blinked. "What?"

"I'll do it. I'll tail him."

He simply gaped at her. "Are you joking? You'll be bored out of your mind."

"So?" she reached for her bomber jacket and shrugged it on, shoving the clipboard back into Graham's hands. "No more bored than I'll be checking Roger Edgar's wrecked Christmas display or the graffiti on Anita's porch."

But Graham wasn't fooled. "You really think there's something to this, don't you?"

She sighed. "I don't know. But I wanna find out."

…

"I don't see why you can't at least _speak _with my father before you ask for a job from a man who might not even _have _one for you," Kathryn gestured up at the big black lettering above Collodi's front entrance.

James let out a frustrated sigh, clenching his hands into fists inside the pockets of his coat, as white puffs of air hissed out from his nostrils. Winter had arrived virtually overnight, just in time for the beginning of December. And while snow had not fallen as of yet, he could already smell the crisp coolness of it in the air. "Kathy, we've been through this," he said, trying not to appear too annoyed with her. "Banks and investments just…aren't _me_."

"Of course they are!" she replied with a disbelieving laugh. "David, you were going for an M.B.A. before your accident. Banks and investments are certainly more your thing than _this_. You don't know the first thing about fixing a car."

It was a true enough argument and James had to really think for a moment how to counter it. She was right, unfortunately. He still hadn't gotten used to those infernal machines, and – without ever having _had _David's memories of this world – could barely drive them let alone fix them. Interest in cars, of course, was just a cover though. He needed a better pretext that would allow him to work closely with Geppetto and Thomas. And he couldn't very well reveal _that _to Kathryn.

Softening his approach, he stepped forward and smoothed his hands down her arms. "Look," he said warmly. "He's a good man and can do so many things. I like him and I think there's a lot he can teach me."

She frowned up at him, but didn't reply, glancing back at the sign above the door.

"Besides," James continued, lifting her chin to meet his gaze again. "I think we _both _know that me working for _your father _is a bad idea."

At this, Kathryn struggled to suppress a knowing grin and eventually failed completely as a radiant smile lit her face. "I think that's the most you've sounded like yourself in weeks," she said, her eyes glistening. She pushed herself up to him on her tip-toes and kissed him fully on the lips.

James was a little shocked by the advance but had gotten quite good at counting to five and then gently releasing her without revealing any sign that he detested the feel of Abigail's lips on his own. "Go on. You'll be late for work."

She flashed him mock pout and then another grin. "Well…good luck sweetie." She gave him another quick peck on the cheek and then scurried off. James watched her go and was careful to preserve the display of affection he hoped enough people walking about on the square could see. He was getting more than a little nervous about the prospect of just how many poor souls in Storybrooke were the queen's eyes and ears. The more Kathryn and David Nolan were seen in public, the better.

Finally, he turned toward Collodi's entrance and clasped the metal handle, ready to pull. But just as he was about to step inside, something prickled at the back of his neck and he whirled around, sensing someone behind him. His head darted up and down the street but there was no one there. He turned back to the door but the feeling remained, and again he peered across the street, noting a couple parked cars along the square, though they were pulled up next to meters and without occupants. All seemed as it should be in Storybrooke. Shivering slightly, attributing it to a chill in the air, he pushed through the door, walked up to Geppetto's counter and rang the little bell.

…

"I'm sorry my friend, but you have me confused with someone else," Marco insisted as he continued to stare, wide-eyed at the sketch in front of him. "I wouldn't know the first thing about how to craft something like this." The old Italian could barely believe how he even ended up in this silly debate and shook his head – half frustrated, half amused.

Seeing David at the counter this morning, Marco had assumed the young man was there simply to retrieve the exquisite mobile he'd left for repair. And he did, indeed, pick up the package. But within the span of an hour, this increasingly perplexing (though entirely charming) John Doe had convinced Marco to hire him on as an extra pair of hands. David had noted that the hanging shelves in the corner were piled quite high with orange-tagged items and, though he admitted to having absolutely no knowledge of automobiles, assured Storybrooke's resident Mr. Fix-It that he _could _be useful in helping Marco out with the repairs. Given that Marco had been thinking just this morning that he was stretched too thin between the garage and repair shop without a true apprentice, he took David's offer as a godsend and hired him on the spot.

Now, a few hours after lunch and flanked by his new hire and his part-time garage-hand Sean, Marco gaped at the mind-boggling drawing of an item Sean was trying to commission. The young man had arrived late that afternoon as was their arrangement on Saturdays so that young Sean could wait for Ashley to return from the morning shift at Granny's and take Alex off his hands. Usually, Sean went straight to work in the garage, helping out Leroy with the various oil changes and tune-ups that were scheduled. But today, he'd walked straight up to Marco, seemed to need absolutely _no _introduction of David, and had slapped down this incredibly peculiar sketch in front of the old man's eyes. "I know you have it in you, Marco," Sean was saying now, placing a supportive, though firm hand on the man's shoulder. David, resting his folded arms on the countertop across from them, concurred whole heartedly.

"If _anyone_ in town can do this," James added, "it's you."

"But as I told you before gentlemen: I am _not _a craftsman."

Thomas looked up at James and flashed him a sardonic smirk. "Nope, I'm not buying it, are you David?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Mr. Herman—" Marco tried.

"After seeing the work you did on _this_?" James gave the box which held Snow's newly repaired unicorns a gentle pat. "Not a chance."

"But that was a _repair_," Marco insisted. "I have never built anything from scratch. And if I did, I certainly would _start _with something like _this_. I don't even think it's possible, Sean. This—" he thrust his forefinger at the charcoal drawing— "is the stuff of fairy tales."

Both princes shared knowing glances, each aware that the irony in Geppetto's choice of words was completely lost on the poor craftsman. Still, the phrase punctuated the lively debate with an awkward silence as Thomas cleared his throat and softened his tone.

"That's true, Marco," he said. "And that's exactly what I want for Ashley. A fairy tale."

Marco cocked his head to the side and peered at his young employee, remembering the day Sean came to him, much as David had today, and begged him for a job. "_I have a family who needs me now,_" he'd pleaded. "_I need to be able to support them._" It had impressed Marco from the start how committed he was to his girlfriend and new baby girl. And he could tell instantly how much Sean truly loved Ashley. He looked back and forth between the men at his counter, each with eyes twinkling brighter than the other and rolled his own eyes, knowing surrender was imminent. With a shrug and a smile, Marco took a deep breath and gave in. "Very well, gentlemen. I will see what I can do."

…

Emma's eyelids were growing quite heavy as she sat parked across the square in the unmarked green sedan Graham had given her. He _had_ mentioned that it seemed a bit overkill to go as far as using a new vehicle, but at the time, Emma insisted that David would spot a squad car and would probably recognize her yellow buggy. Knowing she would brook no opposition, he'd handed over the keys.

Now, as she rubbed her hands together against the cold and continued to stare at Collodi's storefront as she had been doing for the past 6 hours, she was starting to wonder if maybe Graham had been right all along. Maybe the mayor was overreacting (it certainly wouldn't be the first time). Glancing down at the time on the dashboard, Emma felt like an absolute fool. What was it about this man that bugged her so much? How had she let Regina of all people convince her that there was anything worth investigating about this poor guy who was just trying to put his life back together? This morning, she'd observed a perfectly normal and – actually – quite sweet exchange between David and his wife outside the store. He'd even kissed her good-bye and smiled after her. Oh yes, Emma – she'd thought sarcastically – very suspicious indeed. At around noon, she'd seen David head across the street to Tony's Deli, but had returned almost immediately after retrieving an order of sandwiches. It seemed as if the town's John Doe had gotten himself a job at the local garage, for he remained inside the rest of the day.

She was about ready to call it a day and was working up the humility necessary to go back and admit to Graham that he was right, when she saw Collodi's open up again and David step outside. She shrunk down in her seat, gripping the steering wheel as she peered through the open space between it and the horn. He had his coat on now, zipped snugly to the collar, and was carrying a box under his arm. He turned and immediately started walking, which told Emma that he was not expecting Kathryn to drive by with a ride any time soon. She continued to glare as he stepped briskly along the sidewalk, turning down a back alleyway that, Emma knew, was a shortcut to Granny's. She groaned, for this was an alley down which no car could squeeze. Pulling on her gloves, she flung open her car door, jogged across the street and stopped just short of the alley. He was almost to the other end, and Emma carefully sneaked a look around the corner, using the dumpster parked along the side wall to shield herself from her view. Pulse quickening, she watched as David halted in the alleyway, turned back toward the street and stared in her direction. But Emma was not worried. She knew she could not be seen. And eventually, David spun back once more and turned around the corner and out of sight.

With a light chuckle, Emma took the opportunity to follow David's path down the same alley. He had turned right which meant he _was_ probably going to Granny's. This was the lucky break she'd needed for she could allow herself to be seen in Granny's under the pretense of grabbing some coffee. Perhaps she might even strike up a conversation with him and find out—

"Looking for someone?"

_Damn. _

The voice came from behind her as she emerged on the sidewalk. Her whole body jerked in surprise but she didn't turn around right away. Slamming her eyes shut, mortified by having made such classic, amateur mistakes, she slowly turned and cringed.

There he was. David. Leaning his back against wall, one knee bent with his shoe propped up on the brick behind him. He was smirking at her, but the expression in his eyes was deadly serious.

With a deep breath, she regained her composure and noted the box still tucked protectively under his arm. "What's in the box?" she asked.

He glanced down at it, seemed to consider the matter, then looked up again. "A gift."

"For who?"

Again, he paused and seemed to think. "My wife," he answered.

Judging from his behavior with Kathryn earlier, Emma supposed this was possible. But there was something deceptive in his tone, and her pulse quickened with excitement at the renewed thought that he really _was _hiding something. "Mind showing me?"

"Why are you following me, Emma?" he asked, not taking his eyes from her as he pushed himself off the wall and approached.

Emma gulped and cleared her throat. His gaze was intense and had prompted that same unsettling feeling she'd felt when they last spoke – like he could see right through her. "The um…" she fumbled for a moment. "The sheriff's office has been asked to…look afteryou. Make sure you don't end up on the…_wrong_ side of town while you're still getting your memory back."

David stopped right in front of her, the corner of his mouth lifting a bit as he cocked an eyebrow. "And Collodi's is the _'wrong'_ side of town?"

"Well…no," she admitted, crossing her arms defensively. "But there _was_ some concern that you were spotted at Garçon's last night and—"

"What?" he snapped, and in an instant his whole posture had changed. "How do _you _know that?"

Emma physically jerked backwards then recovered. "Look, you have a whole lot of people out there who are concerned for you, Mr. Nolan. The mayor herself came and made the request this morning—"

"The mayor?" he cried, even more alarmed. Emma watched as he rolled his eyes toward the sky and shook his head. "_Regina _asked _you _to tail me."

She nodded. "At the request of your wife, yes." He sighed, glancing down at his gift as sorrow filled his eyes. His reaction continued to confuse her. She was _convinced _now that he was hiding something…but she wasn't entirely sure it was bad. "Look…" she took a step closer, "I'm sure your wife is just worried about you—"

"Kathryn _knew _I was at Garcon's last night, Emma," he replied, his gaze fixed on hers again. "She gave me directions."

Emma's jaw dropped, and she stared at him. "She gave you—then…why would Regina—"

"I don't know," he said gravely. "But I think that's a question for _her _don't you?"

Emma didn't reply, merely nodded as she searched her brain for clues that _any _of this made sense.

"I appreciate your concern, Deputy," he said quietly, and for some crazy reason, the sudden formality in his tone bothered her. "But I'm not the one who needs following." She stood there slightly stunned and he held her gaze a moment longer. Both seemed to sense there was so much more that could be said here, but in the end David gave her a cursory nod and headed off toward Granny's.

He was practically out of earshot before she finally got hold of herself and ran after him, feeling suddenly as if she'd regret it forever if she didn't. "David," she yelled. He stopped and turned. She caught her breath, darting her eyes back and forth between his eyes and the gift. He stood waiting…patiently. Almost…hopeful? Giving in to the prescient voice in her head, she asked again: "What's in the box?" She knew it was the same question as before but she had to say _something. _And she had a feeling that this time, she might get a real answer.

He glanced down once more at the package tucked safely against his side and then casually up the street toward Granny's. "Tell you what," he said. "Lemme buy you a cup of cocoa and I'll show you."

Emma started. "Cocoa? How did you—"

But David just smiled and, slightly hypnotized by the cryptic tone in his voice, she sighed and said, "Fine."

…

"David!" Emma called after him. "Do you mind telling me why we had to come out _here _just to look inside that thing?"

James grinned and shook his head, trudging laboriously against the currents of the winter wind that thrashed the lake against the shoreline in the distance. It had been a gamble, he knew, insisting they come out to Henry's castle after getting cocoa at Granny's. She could have very well refused and figured 'to hell with it' – a phrase he had heard quite often in this world. But James was getting to know his daughter rather quickly. In many ways, it was like talking to himself. She had the same unwavering curiosity and unfailing stubbornness as he did, and he'd seen as much in Henry as well. So though he could not be close to her like he wanted, it was comforting to know there was much they already shared. Reaching the castle at last, just as the wind died down, he set the box down next to one of the wooden posts, rubbed his two gloved hands together and blew hot puffs of air into his cupped fist. "Well, I've got people spotting me all over town now, haven't I?" he said pointedly as she reached him. She stood beside him, gripping one of the upper platforms with her right hand while her left rested on her hip. The skepticism in her face almost made him laugh – she looked so much like Snow. "Believe me," he tapped the box with his shoe, "this is not something I wanna be showing off to every passerby stopping at Granny's for coffee."

She was tapping her foot impatiently, deepening the imprint her boots made in the sand. "You know, this secrecy only makes you look more suspicious."

"Of _what _exactly?" he countered, crouching down to remove the tape on the flaps.

Emma opened her mouth and shut it again, realizing she had no answer.

"Uh huh," he chuckled. "That's what I thought."

"Would you just hurry up?" she bounced a little bit, squeezing her arms against the cold. "I'm starting to wish I'd never asked."

James paused in the middle of ripping up the tape. "No you're not."

She looked at him sharply. "Oh so now you think you _know _me?"

"I'm starting to."

"You don't know anything about me—"

"I know you're not the type to just blindly follow orders without question," he cut in, leaning back on his haunches and resting his arm atop his knee. "You and I both know that request didn't come from Kathryn this morning. So ask yourself: if the mayor isn't just helping out a friend, why would she care about me being in West End?"

The accuracy of his assessment annoyed the hell out of her, and Emma huffed out a frustrated sigh, rolling her eyes as she grasped at straws for an answer. "Because she's…the mayor. _And—" _she remembered triumphantly, though she couldn't quite believe she was actively defending Regina, "She _was _your emergency contact. Maybe she's—"

"Worried about me?" he said with a laugh. "Do you believe our mayor capable of such compassion?"

Emma harrumphed again but didn't answer.

"Admit it," James pulled the rest of the tape off the lid. "You're not here for Regina. You're here because you're curious."

"So what if I am?" she snapped back, looking down…and then she gasped. For James had just pulled out the single most beautiful adornment she'd ever seen: a collection of glass unicorns, blue and clear, dangling from two cross-beams held together by a modest hook. It was mesmerizing, and exquisite…and familiar.

James held his breath, noting her reaction. There was no reason Emma should recognize the mobile. The poor girl had never spent any time in the lovingly prepared nursery before they'd had to send her through the wardrobe. Nevertheless, he knew it was a powerful symbol of both his and Snow's love, a love that had resulted in this beautiful, strong woman before him. It was powerful enough to wake James from his own slumber. Maybe…just maybe…

"That's…" she whispered, crouching down beside him which shielded her a bit more from the wind. "That's beautiful." Cautiously, she reached forward, lifting one of the blue unicorns against her palm as it floated toward her with the wind.

"Exactly what I said when I first saw it finished." James smiled, thankful for the swiftness of the wind, for it excused his bleary eyes.

"Where did you get it?" she asked, still marveling its shape.

"From the finest craftsman I know," James said softly, almost to himself.

Emma turned to him. "From Marco?"

He shook his head. "Not…exactly." The response was cryptic, he knew, but Emma was too overwhelmed by the gift to really notice.

She studied it for what seemed like hours, hypnotized by its singularity. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this," she said.

James shook his head. "You wouldn't have. It's one of a kind."

Finally, Emma seemed to snap back to reality. "You remember _that _but you couldn't remember your own marriage?"

James frowned a bit as he gently positioned the hook over the box and guided the strands back down. "It's complicated," he said simply.

Her breath hitched in her throat as something gripped her heart, and it took a few seconds for Emma to realize what it was: regret. She was actually sad to see the beautiful gift get packed away again. She'd never in her life felt so drawn to an object…except perhaps her baby blanket. But there was an explanation for _that_. As she watched him handle the hook, she realized something. "Isn't that…like, a decoration for a crib?"

"A mobile, yes," James said, resealing the box. He hoisted it up carefully as they both stood once more.

"So are you and…I mean is Kathryn…expecting?" she asked.

James blinked, having of course anticipated such a question, though he'd still not thought up a reply. Honesty, he decided. And he answered. "No."

Emma's brow furrowed. "But you're…trying," she tried tentatively.

"Trying?"

"To have a baby!" she said exasperated, and her hands went instantly to her hips.

James frowned and sighed deeply. He'd been uttering half-truths all day, and it pained him to have to be so equivocating. But there was no way around it for now. "My…_wife _and I hope…one day…to be a family, yes."

Emma's eyes narrowed, and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. They were silent a few moments, and she was about to reply when the CB radio she had clipped to her belt started to gargle. "Emma!" came Graham's garbled voice. "Emma come in."

They stared at each other and then David nodded toward the radio, indicating that she should answer it. So she picked up the receiver and brought it to her mouth. "What is it, Graham?"

"I think your um…other assignment will have to wait," came the sheriff's voice. Emma rolled her eyes as David chuckled.

"Why?"

"I got a report of some kids shoplifting at the drug store. I…think this is something you'll wanna see."

She sighed and looked again to David who seemed only too willing to leave her to her work. "I'll be right there," she submitted, and clicked off.

"Well," James in mock disappointment. "Looks like you'll have to continue tailing me another time." And with that, he started to leave.

"You know," she turned to him, "when Henry first knocked on my door, I warned him I had a superpower."

At the mention of his grandson, James turned back around. "Is that right?"

She nodded. "I told him that I can tell when someone is lying."

James did not reply immediately. Instead he looked away, gazing toward the afternoon sun that now glistened over the horizon.

Emma watched him carefully, still trying to figure out what he was hiding. But in his eyes…she saw only sadness.

He looked back at her and shook his head. His heart was aching and his hand twitching as he resisted the urge to reach for her. "I would never lie to you, Emma," he said, his voice raw and full of emotion. "But you're not ready for the truth." Without another word, he trudged away, leaving his stunned and speechless daughter on the shores of what should have been their home.

…

*****Sorry this one took so long, but as you can see…it's um…really long! Thanks to KayleeThePete for the shout out in her latest chapter and to all of you who have been so good for my soul! More Belle coming up in Chapter 13 as well as my little take on Hansel and Gretel! (and of course…more Snow, Charming, Emma and maybe some Jiminy soon!)*** **


	13. Three princesses walk into a store

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Three princesses walk into a store…**

Saturday. Finally. Given everything that had happened since her awakening, Snow could hardly believe that it hadn't even been a full week since her fateful rendezvous with James at the toll bridge. The routine of school – once a great comfort and passion for the dowdy Mary Margaret – was getting tiresome, and every day Snow grew more restless, knowing how much of her world, her people, were obliviously wandering this prison of a town while their princess quietly played the part given to her, unsure of whom to trust. Her students continued to stare blankly at her, perfectly ignorant of the fact that they had been in the 5th grade for almost 30 years. The very sight of their innocent faces angered her, and while she was not about to let the quality of their education decline, the knowledge she now possessed of how much they had been denied by the queen's wrath was getting to be a constant distraction.

So it was with great relief that Snow woke to the cheerful tune of one of her bluebirds cooing outside her window _late _that morning, well past her weekday starting time. She shivered as she cracked open the frozen pane, allowing her little friend to flutter inside and shake out its chilled wings. "Oh my," she muttered as she held her palms together and formed a small cup into which the little bird hopped. "Winter arrived overnight I see," she said. The bird, whose name was Lucy, gave an annoyed little nod but did not appear too put out. Perhaps she had not been perched out in the cold too long. In her beak was clasped a long thin piece of rolled up paper which Snow retrieved at once after gently setting her friend down near the heating vent. Lucy chirped contentedly as the heated air warmed her feathers. "I suppose you'll have to be moving on soon," she said sadly as she unrolled the paper. The bird cocked her head back and forth, looking between her master and the frost still misting the windows. After seeming to consider the matter, she replied firmly with a series of earnest chirps. Tilting her ear toward the birdsong, Snow listened intently and a slow smile spread across her face. "Well I don't know how I'm going to explain _that_ to Emma, but if you're really willing to stay, I'd be so grateful." She retrieved a little bag of breadcrumbs she'd been keeping in her bedside table the past few nights and tossed them to her friend who happily plucked each generous helping from the floor and gulped down her payment. Satisfied that her trusted messenger was content, she brought the unrolled parchment in front of her and gazed at her husband's familiar scrawl:

_**Dearest Snow…**_

She sighed, remembering the first time she'd received a letter with this exact salutation. Their future had been as uncertain then as it was now, and their love…just as strong…

_**I'm afraid I must make this short as it is already 2 in the morning and I've only just arrived at David's home…**_

She smiled at the phrasing, perfectly understanding his meaning. Without him here, her house didn't exactly feel like _home _either…

_**I must also confess I am growing more and more wary of the queen's eyes and ears about town. I believe I may have been reckless tonight in staying so long at the establishment I mentioned I would visit after Regina's dinner. But I suspect you will hardly blame me when you learn what I know. It's Thomas, Snow. He's awake!**_

Snow gasped, reading the line two more times to be sure she'd understood correctly. Thomas? Awake? Impossible! For she'd seen with her own two eyes that the curse still held Ella captive not two days before.

_**Believe me, I was as stunned as you are now – **_

She rolled her eyes…how did he _do _that?

– _**but I promise I will explain everything. If you are able, meet me Sunday night at our spot. I will wait for you regardless but do **__**not**__** send a reply. I fear there are eyes everywhere and we can't risk the wrong person seeing a message delivered this way by daylight, nor can we risk being seen too much together…**_

Snow shuddered, for though he made no mention of it, she could tell by the very unevenness of his script that Regina's attempt to regain control last night had shaken him into a heightened sense of caution. Even this newest revelation about Thomas, it seemed, was overshadowed by concern that they maintain the illusion for the queen that she was still in control.

_**I love you, my darling. And I long to hold you again. Until then, I will hope for a glimpse of you tomorrow about town. **_

_**Yours forever,**_

_**James**_

_**P.S. Lucy is under strict instructions **__**not**__** to deliver this to you tonight unless you are still awake. So if you do not receive this until morning, be sure to give her an extra helping of sunflower seeds from a most grateful shepherd for braving the cold. **_

Snow smiled down at the bluebird now sleeping peacefully with feathers plumped and puffed by the warmth of the vent. Then she re-read the line: "_**I long to hold you again"**_ and sighed. The feeling was certainly mutual. Every day they were apart, Snow grew more frustrated, aware that secrets must be preserved for all their sakes, but no less anxious to have it over with and be able to claim James as her husband for the world to see.

It was with this eventual goal in mind that Snow took to the streets of Storybrooke. Determined to spend the hours she had free from her classroom gathering as much information as she could, it was her intention to catalogue as many of her subjects and friends in town as she was able. She'd already had a few mini-revelations in her head – Granny was, of course…still Granny, and Ruby was Red. And poor Grumpy, she thought with a light chuckle – so often found getting in Graham's squad car at the end of the day. (With a smile, she wondered if James had yet figured out that the loud-mouthed Leroy at the garage was his old war commandant who'd been instrumental in capturing 'Stiltskin. Snow checked her watch – 9:30. Probably a bit early yet for James to have cajoled Marco into giving him that job. James had mentioned that if he made it through Regina's dinner, he intended to make sure 'David' found himself a job that would provide him with sufficient pretext for being around their allies. Snow had suggested he try Collodi's to which her prince readily agreed. But at this hour, he likely hadn't escaped Kathryn's clingy clutches yet.

By 9:45 Snow arrived on the square, shivering against wintery air as she tightened the collar of her blue coat around her neck and pulled open the heavy door of Granny's against the wind. Most of the early morning regulars had come and gone by now, but a handful of booths were occupied with pleasant-enough looking folk. In the faces of some, she recognized a few of the villagers that once populated the town in the valley of their summer palace. But among them, there were none she knew well. Stepping to the side, she dodged a few customers scurrying out into the cold and headed for the counter.

"Cocoa with cinnamon, Mary Margaret?"

Snow smiled, staring at a freshly prepared cup of hot chocolate that Red had shoved in her face. "Thanks, Ruby," she said, plucking it from the waitress's grasp.

"I think you've started a trend," she rolled her eyes, pulling a pencil tucked somehow in her crazy hair and jotting down the bill on her pad.

"How's that?"

Ruby jabbed her pencil in the direction of the door. "Sheriff left here a few hours ago with the exact same order."

Snow blinked a few times, and then grinned. A peace offering for Emma – she supposed – if Graham knew what was good for him. She thought again, as she had so often this morning, of her previous evening's chat with her daughter, delighting in the fact that each conversation brought them closer together, easing the ache she felt at having missed Emma's entire childhood. "Guess you'll have to stock up on cinnamon then." She took a sip and handed Red a $10 bill.

Ruby shrugged and jammed her thumb a few times into the cash register. "Nothing else then?"

"Nope," she sighed, retrieving her change and glancing at the clock. It was strange; though she had no real agenda for today, she still felt as if she were wasting precious time – time that could be spent discovering –

"Nothing at all?" a soft, cheery voice sounded behind her. "Not even a slice of pie?"

Snow spun around, nearly gasping at the sight of Henry's trusted therapist, Archie Hopper.

"Archie!" she cried, swallowing the generous sip of cocoa she'd just taken with a clumsy, rather unceremonious gulp.

Archie chuckled, leaning on the curved handle of his umbrella. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, not at all," Snow laughed, swiping a napkin from the counter and dabbing a few embarrassing drips from the lapel of her coat.

"What'll you have, Arch?" called Ruby, still behind the register, impatiently tapping her thumb against the side of the machine.

"Oh nothing, thanks." Ruby rolled her eyes and retreated to the kitchen, while Archie cleared his throat and turned back to Mary Margaret. "I uh, saw you coming in across the street and thought I'd just stop in and see, you know…how it all…went."

Snow stared at him, quite unable to figure out what he meant…and then his initial greeting finally registered. "Oh! You mean with Henry!" she said, automatically lowering her voice, darting her eyes about in the diner. Goodness, had that been just _yesterday_? So much had happened since Archie had approached her on her way home with a rather confused look on his face, delivering Henry's strange message about Regina's dinner without even the vaguest of explanations.

"Right," Archie said with a sheepish grin, twisting the handle of his umbrella in the grout between tiles on the diner floor. "I have to admit I was intrigued by that whole business the entire evening."

Snow smiled, "well, you'll be happy to know that that particular phase of—" she dropped her voice in an exaggerated show of confidentiality— "_Operation Cobra_ went off without a hitch."

"Great!" Archie laughed, then dipped his head and whispered. "Does this mean I get to know what the heck that _means_ now?"

But Snow shook her head and chuckled, straightened up, and started walking toward the door. "Afraid not, Doctor. But I'm sure Henry will tell you eventually. He trusts you," she paused and looked to him thoughtfully. "And believe me…Henry's trust is a…valuable commodity around here."

Oddly enough, the cryptic comment didn't surprise Archie at all. "I agree, Miss Blanchard. In fact that's the other reason I wanted to say 'hello'."

"Oh?"

He paused as the bell over Granny's door jingled and a few new patrons sidled by. "Yes," he said, his low voice meant only for Mary Margaret. "I wanted to…thank you."

"For what?"

Again, Archie glanced around before continuing. "Look, I have _no_ idea what 'tell Pops: don't eat the pie!' means."

Snow snorted into her cocoa. The message indeed had taken some work to decode_._

"But I know Henry wouldn't have asked me to deliver it to you unless he felt…that you _believed _him."

She glanced up, her brow creasing a bit, for she was unsure exactly how to respond.

"I know that _some_ people—" he continued bitterly, "—have been critical of how I've been…treating Henry's psychosis."

Snow closed her eyes, trying not to wince against the medical term, and sighed. Now she understood. "Archie," she said with a supportive hand on his shoulder, "I'm not one of them."

"I know," he said at once. "You've been supporting him and encouraging his imagination all along. You even gave him that book if I recall." She nodded. "For him to identify you as one of the purest characters in fairy tale history well…that's no coincidence." Snow actually gasped at the compliment, wanting so desperately to contradict his entirely too generous accolade but knew she couldn't. Besides, he was continuing. "And you've never once made him feel like he was…crazy."

"It would never occur to me," she said at last. "He's a creative boy…and I'm a 5th grade teacher," she quipped with a grin.

"I know," Archie acknowledged. "And a damn good one." He stood there a bit awkwardly, digging his umbrella even further into the grooves of tile, and blushing. "Anyway, thank you for…supporting him." He turned to leave, but Snow stopped him.

"Archie," she said, suddenly curious; for there was something decidedly familiar about this psychiatrist and always had been, but he didn't look at all like anyone from her world. She'd kept meaning to ask Henry about it, but up until now, it had always slipped her mind. Perhaps the doctor himself could shed light on his own identity, though she knew he'd not be aware of it. "I'm sorry but, do you mind if I ask—" she paused as he stepped closer to her, peering through those thick, goofy glasses of his. "Who does Henry think that…_you _are?"

Archie blinked and then let out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he tapped the inner arch of his shoe with the tip of the umbrella. "Well, I'll tell you, it's certainly the most…_creative_ claim he's made so far."

"Who?" she insisted.

He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat a little too theatrically. "Jiminy Cricket," he said with mock pride.

It was a good thing Snow was leaning against the small ledge near the garbage can with her cup hovering over it, for it slipped from her grasp and landed right side up with a soft thud, splashing only a tiny bit of cocoa from beneath its plastic lid. "Oh jeez, you ok?" Archie scurried to retrieve a few paper napkins from a nearby dispenser and help clean the spill.

"Oh, y-yes, sorry," Snow fumbled, reeling from the revelation. _Of course…Jiminy Cricket. _How could she _not _have heard it in the soft cadence of his voice or in his words of wisdom all these years? How strange that the curse transformed him into a _person_. To what end, she wondered. What happy ending did this dissolve? "I'm just so clumsy today…although," she let out what she hoped was a jovial chuckle, "Jiminy Cricket…really!"

"I know, clever isn't he?" He fiddled again with his handle. "I think it's the umbrella," he added with a twinkle in his eye. "Better than Mary Poppins, right?"

Snow let out another fake laugh as she caught her breath, unable to stop staring at the War Council's most trusted voice of reason incarnated before her. Right in front of them the whole time. _A psychiatrist, _she thought, oddly proud of him. _Of course_. "Well _Jiminy_," she emphasized the name, knowing he would take it for teasing, though in truth it was a joy to say out loud. "May I just say that I can't think of _anyone _more suited to helping Henry than you."

Archie drew back from her, quite stunned. "Well…uh...th-thank you Miss Blanchard. And I can't think of a better teacher."

Too overcome to respond, Snow just nodded, gave Jiminy's wrist a squeeze and then immediately took her leave, knowing there would be _no _way to explain the tears welling up in her eyes.

…

By mid-afternoon, Snow's brain was bordering on overload. After her talk with Jiminy, she thought about going to Marco's to tell James. But as she neared Collodi's shop, she saw him standing on the sidewalk under the storefront, arguing with Abigail. Choosing to appear as disinterested as possible, Snow changed course, and headed away from the square toward the shops on Main Street. Thinking on James's note this morning and the tone of worry etched in the phrasing, she decided to wait, knowing it was better that Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan maintain distance in public.

So by 10:00, she'd ducked into a small used-books store and had started scanning the shelves. Glancing up and down the aisles, it called to mind a question that had been bugging her since Henry had given her the book back. _Where _had she gotten it? For some reason, that was a memory of Mary Margaret's she just couldn't recall. Had she just found it on her shelves at school? Had someone sold it to her? Judging from the age and distressed look of some of these titles, she thought it likely it might have come from here. Perhaps the owner would remember—

"'Lo ma'am," came a pleasant voice from behind the small counter. Snow gasped as the little man's head popped out from behind an archaic looking computer monitor. "Can I help you?"

For the second time that day, Snow's eyes stung with unshed tears. For there stood Happy, and his demeanor certainly lived up to his old name, though after their brief conversation, she discovered that his name here in Storybrooke was Joel. Joel's story was an expectedly sad one: lived alone, made just enough to pay the rent, kept to himself mostly, had been running the shop for "as long as he could remember"…and had no brothers. Snow talked for what felt like hours but was in reality only about 20 minutes. Promising to come back and visit him, she'd moved on to the next shop down the road, her mind spinning: Grumpy was a repeat offender, Sleepy was a night guard at the hospital who _worked _with Grumpy but didn't seem to like him much. And Happy ran a tiny book shop that got almost no business, providing him nothing to be…well…_happy _about. So far, her seven dearest friends were not faring well, and her stomach began to churn as she wondered...what had become of Dopey.

Still, _one day at a time_, James's voice in her head reminded her. By the time she'd arrived at the market that afternoon, she'd run into the Storybrooke versions of Lumiere and Mrs. Potts, Prince Eric's old manservant Grimsby, and was fairly certain that Eric's old mutt Max was the stray running between alleyways down by Tony's Deli. There was no sign of any of her close friends, but she felt strangely that she might be getting close as she stepped into the market and absently plucked a small green basket from the stack just outside the registers. In moments, she'd turned the corner to the produce section and saw a very familiar head of blonde hair bobbing up and down near the fruits. It was Ella – standing there amidst the nuts and berries with a basket around her wrist and the handles of Alex's stroller clasped firmly in her hands. Snow instantly thought of James's note. "_**It's Thomas, Snow. He's awake!**_" She held her breath as she approached, wondering what it must be like for the young prince to have broken the curse while his young wife still slept. How awful it must be and yet…Ella looked awfully happy. As she drew nearer, Snow noticed that her friend was literally bouncing up and down as she related some obviously exciting news to the woman next to—

Snow froze and gulped hard, staring open-mouthed at the brunette whose face had just come into view. She would know that face anywhere, for it belonged to one of the strongest, most independent women Snow had ever met – Belle.

"Mary Margaret!" called Ella, but her voice seemed a bit far away to the gaping princess. Quickly, she snapped out of it and tried to force a bit of nonchalance into her gait as she joined them in the aisle.

"Ashley," she smiled, though still unable to stop staring at Belle. The woman met her eye with a friendly, though detached nod. Snow's heart sank a little. This woman did not know her.

"Guess what!" Ella cried. Snow finally wrenched her gaze to the young mother whose grip on the stroller handles was so tight, she thought the plastic might snap.

"What? What happened?"

"Sean proposed!" Ella squealed.

Snow's eyes bugged out of their sockets. "Are you serious?"

She nodded, her eyes glistening as she continued bouncing though, miraculously, Alexandra still slept soundly. Before Snow could recover, Ella threw her arms around her friend and hugged her. Over Ella's shoulder, Snow took another sideways glance at Belle whose arms were crossed while she shook her head. Her expression was one of warmth though, and happiness for their mutual companion.

Snow gave Ella a squeeze and pulled back, clasping both her hands and giving them a firm downward shake. "Ashley, that's wonderful!" she said sincerely. Then she laughed, for Ella was jumping up and down again.

"She's been doing this for about 15 minutes," said Belle, feigning annoyance.

Ella stopped bouncing at once. "I know I'm sorry," she said though she couldn't stop smiling.

"Oh don't be!" Belle gave her a playful slap. "You have every right to cheer. It's about time that lug got down on one knee."

"Yes," Snow nodded, "I agree." Privately, she wondered how much James had to do with this. The man certainly had a way of making people see the truth in their own hearts.

"Oh!" Ella cried, slapping her palm against her forehead. "I'm sorry, Mary Margaret, do you know Rose?"

Snow eyed the princess carefully, looking for any hint of recognition. Thomas was awake and they hadn't known it. Why not Belle? But there was nothing but mild politeness in the brunette's eyes and a… softness about her that Snow had rarely seen in their old realm. Belle always had the passion of a warrior in her gaze, but in Storybrooke…she seemed quite…sorrowful.

"I don't…think so?" Snow extended her hand.

"I've seen you around town," Belle replied, shaking it. "The schoolteacher right?"

"Mmm-hmm," she nodded.

"Rose French," she confirmed. "I work with Ashley's boyf—" she stopped and glanced to her right. "I work with Ashley's _fiancée_." The two looked back to Ashley who blushed furiously, but could not wipe the grin off her face.

"Oh, at Collodi's?" Snow asked.

Rose withdrew her hand. "No um…at…at Garçon's."

"Oh!" she cried, understanding Belle's embarrassment. Snow knew that Belle would be unhappy working in a tavern in _any _world. She could only hope that Storybrooke's version of Gaston was not at all acquainted with her. "Well I imagine you were one of the first to know then."

"Actually no," Rose answered. "He covered for me last night and I talked to him briefly but I had no idea he was planning on proposing."

"I don't even think _he _did," Ashley sighed heavenward, crouching down to adjust Alex's blanket. "Honestly, I think something just…came over him. He was so—" she looked up, as if searching the sky for answers. "He was so _romantic_."

Snow grinned, already guessing what _exactly _had "come over" Thomas. _James, _she thought. She would have loved to have been able to explain to Ella that it was most likely the realization of others in the town also free of the curse, that there was hope alive in the world once again that had prompted Thomas's proposal. But if she was reading her signals right, it wouldn't have made a difference. Her young companion was in a state of absolute bliss, a demeanor that – if she were to be truly honest with herself – Snow quite envied.

"So when's the big day?" asked Rose as she turned toward the huge display of lemons in front of them and started picking through the ripest.

"Oh God, we haven't talked _any _specifics yet," Ella said. "But I'm sure it'll be soon."

Ashley might have continued but Alexandra stirred awake rather suddenly and started fussing. Excusing herself from her two friends – friends that only two weeks ago, she didn't know she had – she politely asked them to stay with her basket while she took Alex on a quick bouncy walk between aisles.

For a few moments, the two watched Ella go, both staring in her direction when Belle spoke up.

"It's nice to see her so happy."

Snow turned to her, noticing the sadness in her voice. "It really is."

Rose was still staring, though Ashley had long since turned the corner into another aisle. "I hope that it lasts."

Snow frowned, her brow creasing as she stepped a little in front of Belle's glare, catching her attention. Belle started out of her stupor and shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I meant…I didn't mean—"

"No it's ok. I…I kinda know what you mean," Snow offered.

Rose looked up, a bit startled. "You do?"

She nodded. "Happiness…" she hesitated, unwilling to revisit that place in her past when even her own wedding night was fraught with worry of what might come. "...can be fleeting," she finished.

Rose stared at Mary Margaret a little in awe. There was wisdom there. Evidence of a heart that had been bruised, then healed, then bruised again. And something else…familiarity. She _knew _this woman. She felt it, as she had last night when she saw that man in the booth. Rose opened her mouth to speak, but the abrupt chirp of her cell phone shaking in her purse forced it shut again, and she offered a hasty apology as she retrieved her phone to answer it.

"Hello?" Belle said. Snow waited patiently, hoping the interruption would be trivial and quick. Belle had always been one of the sharpest knives in the drawer. If anyone could break free of the curse by sheer brains, it was her. But as she studied her old friend's face carefully, she saw it twist in anguish, and Snow resisted the urge to reach for her and offer comfort. "What?" Belle cried. "When?" She listened some more. No, thought Snow. Definitely not trivial. "Well is he…is he stable?" Snow's heart sank, instant sorrow filling her soul mixing with the anger already there for feeling so completely helpless here in Storybrooke. "Okay, thank you…yes…no, I'll be right there. Yes…thank you." She clicked the phone off and stood motionless.

"Rose?" Snow tentatively touched her arm.

At her touch, Rose stiffened, started a bit and sighed. "My um…my father was just taken to the hospital."

"What?" she cried, tightening her grip at once. "What happened?"

"They don't know. They said—" Rose panted, her throat going dry. "They said something about bleeding. I don't know I have to get down there—"

"What's going on?" another voice interrupted them and Snow turned to see Ella returning to the aisle, crouching down to put Alex back in her stroller.

"Rose's father was just taken to the hospital."

Ashley gasped. "Oh no! I'm so sorry!"

Rose was beside herself. So much…so much to do. And yet, she felt a bit frozen, like the world was moving in slow motion as she cringed against the voice crying inside her head screaming _not again…not again…please not again._ This was not the first time Mo French had been rushed to the hospital without her being home. Damn the bills and the hours and the time she must be away from him! Hastily, she picked her green basket off the floor and turned back to the fruit, plucking random lemons from the piles without discrimination.

"Rose, what…" Snow glanced at Ella who seemed just as perplexed by their friend's behavior. "What are you doing?"

Rose kept counting lemons in her head as she worked quickly. "I have to um—I have to stock up on lemons and limes for tonight and get these to Jack before we open."

"Rose—"

"I'll have to see if he can take the first shift and—no I should probably call him—"

"Are you kidding me?" the sharpness of Ella's voice startled Snow as she turned to see the blond grab Rose's wrist and stop her frantic shopping. "Rose, _go _to the hospital."

"I can't. Jack will—"

"I'll get the lemons and limes to Jack and Sean will cover your shift." Ashley replied with a firm nod.

Rose shook her head. "No, I couldn't let you…It…i-it's his one night off this week and you two _just _got engaged. I won't—"

"You have no choice," Ashley quipped, grabbing the basket from Rose's grasp with one hand while holding her phone up to her ear. "I'm already calling him. Now go. Mary Margaret will go with you to the hospital."

"But I should really tell Jack—"

"No, you heard the woman," Snow found her voice again, still mildly stunned by the control Ella had just asserted. This was certainly leaps and bounds beyond where she was when the two of them were making spaghetti on Barbarac Lane. She might not be aware of the curse yet, but she was certainly getting to be more and more like Ella every day. "Come on, we can take my car."

Unused to this kind of support but too frazzled to object, Rose allowed herself to be handled by her new companion, guided out of the store and driven to the hospital…where her poor provincial life had just taken another turn for the worse.

…

_You're not ready for the truth._ Emma rolled her eyes. _I would never lie to you Emma…but you're not ready for the truth_. She slammed her fist against the steering wheel as she turned down the lane that led to the drug store. _Admit it…you're curious. _Damn the man! _You're not ready for the truth. _God damn the man! What was it about David Nolan that left her feeling completely unhinged? What was it about his voice, his eyes, his whole…blasted…David-_ness _that left her so…vulnerable? So utterly at a loss for words? Never in her life had a man affected her so. He made her feel like a child. Like a little girl who was in way over her head, having to go ask Daddy for—Henry's voice came screaming back at her, pounding even louder in her head now than the first time. _I found your father…Prince Charming…_

No, she resolved for about the fifth time since she'd left the castle. She refused to entertain a deluded child's notion that a man scarcely a few years older than herself could be her father. Shaking her head, she decided she was glad for this particular distraction. Sure, a couple kids shoplifting didn't exactly sound like a job that required more than Graham's presence. But she had this distinct feeling that had she stayed with David on those shores, she would have opened a Pandora's box of secrets that might be better left unsaid. The certainty with which she felt this was staggering enough for one day. No, she made up her mind. She would think of David Nolan no more.

Of course, that wasn't so easy when she stepped out of her car and saw the mayor stalking over to her from the sidewalk where she'd been talking to Graham. "What are you doing here, Deputy?" she barked.

"Graham radioed me over, said it was urgent." At that moment, she saw Graham shift to the side and revealed, to her astonishment, their son. "Henry?"

"Nevermind that now," the mayor said impatiently, stepping in front of her and blocking her view once more of the boy.

"What happened?" she asked, straining around Regina to get a better look. Henry appeared to be standing rather sheepishly against the brick wall of the drug store. Next to him were two other children, a boy and a girl whom Emma had never seen.

"Miss Swan, must I remind you that genetics mean nothing? You're not his mother and it's all taken care of."

"I _told _you, Graham called me."

"Well he _shouldn't _have," Regina snapped, glancing meaningfully back at the sheriff (who chose this particular moment to be quite occupied with writing down something on his pad). "Besides," she sneered back at Emma. "Don't you have somewhere _else _to be?"

She caught Henry's eye and held _his _gaze as she answered the mayor. "I'm right where I should be," she said defiantly.

"No Deputy," Regina countered. "Where you _should _be is following through with that tail." The mayor gripped Emma's arm as she said it, lowering her voice and urging her further away from the crowd.

Emma shrugged out of her grasp immediately. "Already done," she brushed herself off, making a big show of wiping the sleeve Regina had touched.

"Seven hours? That's it?" the mayor scaled her up and down with her steely eyes, crossing her arms and resting all her weight on one leg in an exaggerated show of incredulity. "Is that the kind of work ethic you devoted to all those miscreants who skipped out on bail? No wonder you decided to stay."

"Ok, why don't we just table the sarcasm for a day?" Emma retorted. "I followed him all morning and all afternoon and never saw anything unusual. There's nothing suspicious going on."

"Nothing," Regina glowered. "And you're sure of this after _seven _hours. _Eight _tops."

"It doesn't take two days to know there's nothing to tell. The only thing I found out when I talked to him—"

"You _talked _to him?" she seethed.

"Yes!" Emma hissed back. "And he told me that—" she stopped. What was she doing? What was she saying? As if on instinct, she was actually _defending_ David! Covering for him. Defending a man who so clearly had something to hide, a secret he'd all but admitted he was keeping from her on that beach and yet…somehow Emma _knew _that it must be protected. _He _must be protected…and she had no idea why. "He told me that he and Kathryn…are trying to start a family."

Regina blinked a few times, staring into the deputy's eyes. Then slowly (and creepily) a rather perversely satisfied smile curled across her face. "A family? Really?"

Emma nodded, swallowing hard and maintaining her ground.

After another few moments, Regina slipped her hands inside her coat pockets and nodded. "Good." Without another word, she turned to Henry and called for her son. "We're leaving!" She spun on her heels and headed toward the car.

Henry whispered something quickly to the young girl beside him. He then scurried by Emma, mindful that he not delay (as the evil witch was certainly in one of her moods today). But before he caught up to the mayor, he stopped and glanced back, flashing his _real_ mom a grin.

Emma waved…and then gasped. That smile. That grin. She'd seen that earlier today. Though it wasn't in the remotest way possible, her son was gazing up at her, and the face she saw – if only for the briefest of moments – was David's.

*****I've never been so humbled and so touched by so many readers. Thank you for ALL the reviews and favs and alerts. I know I'm always saying that, but it's always true. **

**LOTS of guesses coming my way about the identity of the mysterious 'John' from the previous chapter. I'm most intrigued by those of you who think it's Captain Hook! A very clever guess on your parts! (Much cleverer than me I daresay!) Alas, I shan't be revealing who it really is just yet, but you're kinda close. Much more to come with Hansel and Gretl, James, Snow, Belle, Gaston…and down the line, a Beast. Stay tuned!**

**(By the way, anyone catch any other 'Easter Eggs' in the previous chap? I thought for sure someone would notice the names of the two people on Graham and Emma's list of daily complaints!)**

**Anyway, happy reading, writing and **_**watching**_** (new Snow/Charming centric ep on Sunday! So psyched, though I wish David wasn't such a prat on the show!)*** **


	14. Lost and Found

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Lost and Found**

The hospital had never seemed so…stale to Snow as she sat in the waiting room with Belle, glancing up at the clock every five seconds. Before she'd stopped volunteering, she had always made an effort to make the place look a little cheerier, a little more welcoming to visitors and patients. And while those efforts seemed to have been continued by fellow volunteers, sitting here now as an outsider, she realized sadly how that bit of color didn't help very much in the midst of distress over a loved one.

Mo French had been examined by the ER when he'd first arrived and now was in with Dr. Whale. At the doctor's insistence, Rose and Mary Margaret had waited outside, and the wait was now becoming unbearable. Checking her watch for the millionth time, Rose glanced down at the schoolteacher who looked up and gave her a warm, supportive smile. That feeling of familiarity hadn't faded one bit, though Rose suspected it was part of that natural empathy good teachers seemed to have. She wondered, suddenly, if perhaps this woman had been spending a lot of time with Ashley Boyd. The serenity and calm Mary Margaret exuded would certainly explain the change in Ashley's countenance in the past few days…well, that and the marriage proposal…of course. Rose chuckled inaudibly in her ruminations and was about to bring the subject up when the exam room door opened and Dr. Whale emerged.

Immediately, Snow was on her feet and stood a little behind Belle as the doctor approached.

"Well?" Rose asked, wringing her hands together.

Dr. Whale's gaze shifted between the patient's daughter and her friend, wondering not for the first time today what Mary Margaret Blanchard was even _doing _there. "I think we should speak…privately."

Snow bit her bottom lip as Belle looked over at her. "I'll um…I'll go get you something to drink."

"No please," Rose said suddenly, grasping Mary's wrist. "It's ok." She turned back to Whale. "You can just tell me here. Now."

With permission from kin granted, Dr. Whale shrugged and slipped his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. "Well he's lost a lot of blood from the hemorrhaging. So we gave him a transfusion for that. If it continues this badly, we may have to give him another."

"Another?" Rose asked, instinctively squeezing Mary's arm even tighter. She sincerely hoped the teacher didn't mind…

…And she didn't. "_Why _is he hemorrhaging?" Snow asked. "Where is it coming from?"

"We think it's an intestinal bleed," he said. "Possibly from the mixture of too many different medications. But there's no way to tell for sure until we get the bleeding stopped and we can't do that unless we take him off the blood thinner."

"He's been on that for _years_," Rose argued. "So he won't have a heart attack".

"I know, but now his blood is so thin, it won't clot. Look Miss French, we're aware of your father's heart problems, but getting the bleeding stopped is the first priority. If we can't do that, nothing else will matter."

Snow darted a glance at Belle whose face had gone deathly pale. "N-nothing else will…" Belle started panting. "What are you saying? Is he gonna…c-could he die?"

Dr. Whale sighed, fiddling with the chart and avoiding the brunette's haunting expression. "Look, let's just see what taking him off the Coumadin does and then we'll have a better idea."

"And if the bleeding doesn't stop?" Rose said, her voice cracking under the strain of her day going from bad to worse. "What then?"

"Well…there won't be much that uh…that we _can _do," he said lamely as the patient's daughter let out a painful cry. His bed-side manner was failing miserably, and he suspected it had something to do with the fact that Mary Margaret was standing right there…why on earth was she glaring up at him with eyes like daggers?

Snow placed a hand on Belle's shaking shoulder and steadied her, taking a step forward and looking him in the eye. "Doctor," she said slowly. "I think Miss French would like a second opinion."

Whale reeled back, affronted by the remark. "I assure you, Miss Blanchard. Every effort is being made to ensure—"

"I'm not questioning that. I just think that," she glanced at Belle and then back again, "Rose would benefit from a concurring physician, that's all."

Dr. Whale glowered down at her, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back as if appraising her. Who _was_ this woman? Where was the lost little lamb he'd shunned on their date? "With all due respect," he said, "I am the attending physician here. _I'm _the guy everyone _else_ calls for a second opinion."

Rose sensed the mounting tension and glanced back and forth between the two. Remarkably, Mary Margaret gave her a slight nod, took Dr. Whale by the arm and led him away from her, out of earshot.

"You're also the _guy_," Snow muttered, making sure her friend did not hear, "who claimed that _nothing_ had changed about a coma patient's condition precisely 5 hours before he got up and _walked_ out of this hospital. Get us. A second. Opinion."

Whale glared at her, wanting to argue. But the point was irrefutable, at least from her perspective. He'd been under very specific orders from the mayor regarding John Doe and he couldn't very well reveal that now. Eyes narrowed and cross, he seethed through gritted teeth, "Fine. I will page the head cardiologist."

"Thank you, Dr. Whale," Snow replied in a normal speaking tone and returned to Belle.

Dr. Whale straightened his lab coat by tugging down on his lapels and watched as Mary Margaret placed her hands on her friend's shoulders and entered Mo's room. Staring at the head of ebony hair as it disappeared into the exam room, Whale shook with frustration, paradoxically both annoyed…and aroused. The sting her accusation wreaked on his ego was unacceptable. He would not stand for that. But he was absolutely mesmerized by the drastic change in Mary Blanchard's entire demeanor. Who was this…vixen? That fiery, biting tongue. That piercing gaze…With renewed desire, his grimace curled into a wolfish grin as he thought perhaps the mayor's suggestion that he give it another try with the bewitching Mary Margaret…wasn't such a bad idea. Perhaps she'd make a worthy conquest after all.

…

"What is it that you expect me to do?" Emma asked as she leaned against Graham's office desk, staring at the file folder that Regina had just shoved into her hands.

"You're the sheriff's deputy, Miss Swan," Regina said. "Tasks like this fall to you."

She closed the folder with a sharp slap and dropped it behind her on the desk. "Tasks like what? Tearing families apart? Separating siblings without even _trying _to find their father?"

"Emma," Graham tried a softer approach, "if there were any record of—"

But Emma thrust her hand up to stop him, still glaring at Regina. "I promised those kids that I wouldn't split them up."

With a snake-like twitch in her neck, Regina's mouth curled into a sly smile. "Well I suggest you stop making promises you can't keep." The silence in the small office was deafening and Emma grew nauseous at the idea of driving Ava and Nick all the way to Boston to be thrust into the life of incarceration that was American foster care.

Ava and Nicolas Zimmer had foolishly tried to pin a bit of shoplifting on herson. They'd claimed they were just taking necessities and that their parents were having a tough time financially. But Emma wasn't fooled. Toothpaste? That _might_ be something a poor mom would ask her kid to buy, but candy bars? She'd been a kid on the run before. These two _had_ no parents.

Catching them in the act of faking a home address, Emma had brought them back to the station at once and questioned them about what was really going on. Their last name had seemed vaguely familiar to Graham for he immediately dug up an old file in which a death certificate was issued for their mother. Her heart bleeding for them immediately, Emma whisked them away to somewhere infinitely more cheerful than a police station – Mary Margaret's house. It had felt like home to her. Perhaps it might bring a measure of comfort to them.

Graham, looking back and forth between the mayor and the deputy, knew what Emma must be feeling now for she had dropped small hints of her own life along the way. How desperately he wanted to reach out and give her hand a supportive squeeze. But he knew better than to try. He was "the enemy" in this case, bound by the law and—from her bitter perspective—Regina. Looking at Emma's face twisting in pain, he wished selfishly that Emma had been here 20 minutes ago to hear him argue _against_ this course of action. To hear him yell at her for having immediately called social services about the two orphans before they'd even had time to investigate their father. "_This is Storybrooke, not Brooklyn New York, Regina!_" he'd said. "_We could have afforded a little delay, here. Let the kids stay with Mary Margaret a few nights while we tried to find their dad._" But Emma at the time had been getting the kids settled at Mary Margaret's house, promising them she'd return with good news no doubt. She hadn't seen his failed efforts to buy them a little time but had arrived back at the station just as Graham was examining (in shock) a complete set of court-ordered documents placing Ava and Nicolas in the boys' and girls' homes in Boston.

"Well you can get someone else to do it because I won't throw those kids to the wolves." said Emma.

"Fine," Regina answered matter-of-factly. "I'm sure the sheriff will have no problems finding a deputy who _will _do her job."

Graham's head hung sadly as he leaned against his desk, glaring up at her from beneath his brow. "Emma's not going anywhere, Regina, so you might as well stop tryin' that line."

The mayor crossed her arms in a huff. "Then she better take them." She looked back to the deputy, "I suggest you get going. It's almost 8:00."

Graham sighed and studied Regina curiously. The mayor had displayed so much erratic behavior in the past few weeks, it was hard to tell what the motivation might be this time. She'd acted with an odd degree of haste in this case. Apparently she and Emma had had the same hunch about the children for Emma had barely identified them as orphans before Regina showed up in his office this evening with the birth records already in tow. And she'd already made calls to these boys' and girls' homes in Boston? Graham had been involved in the politics of Storybooke for…well as long as he could remember. He'd _never _known bureaucracy to work quite so fast.

"What's really behind this?" Emma asked sharply, as if she were reading Graham's mind.

"I beg your pardon?" the mayor snapped.

Emma stood her ground. "You heard me. Why are you so desperate to get these kids out of town tonight? What kind of a threat are two 12-year-olds to you? Afraid Henry might actually get a _friend_ or two? Afraid you'll lose more of your grip on him?"

"Why you little b—"

"Ok, now calm down," Graham pushed himself off the desk and stepped between the two.

"Sheriff," she barked while still staring at her rival. "Would you please inform your deputy that I am acting in the _best _interest of two children who have been wandering the streets of Storybrooke homeless and without parents for years? And if she had any_ understanding_ of children and what it takes to _raise_ a _child_, she would have a little more respect for someone who actually _has _one."

Emma glared at her. "I _do _have one," she seethed, her voice low and oddly quiet. "And more importantly I _was _one…in that system you're so quick to throw them into."

"They have…no…parents," Regina said steadily.

"That we _know _of—"

"All right! That's enough!" came Graham's voice again, this time a little more forcefully. "This is getting us nowhere. Emma, for what it's worth, I agree with you." Emma started and looked at him. "And I told Regina as much when she first brought me this file." He pointed at the case folder he plucked back up from his desk. "But the fact is, there's nothing we can do about it now. The children have been remanded to the custody of the state and since Maine has no vacancies, they must go to Boston."

Emma's stomach hurt so much she wanted to hurl. What would she say to Ava and Nicolas? How would she break it to them that they would not only have to leave the only town they'd ever known but be separated as well? She was about to mount another objection, but Graham had turned to Regina.

"I'm not going to have Emma do this."

"You're the sheriff. She's the deputy. You're needed here—"

"I'll be the one taking them Regina. Emma will do fine in my absence. And I will be leaving tomorrow."

"Tonight—"

"_Tomorrow,_ madam mayor. That's not a drive I want to be making with two little tykes in the middle of the night. You should understand that," he paused and dropped his voice even lower. "You're a _mother_."

The air between them had gone icy cold and Emma could swear she actually saw knives thrusting out of Regina's eyes as she glared down her once obedient sheriff. Without warning, she suddenly felt a swell of admiration for Graham. Perhaps he might break free from the mayor's leash after all. Perhaps they might—

"Fine," Regina finally conceded, though her icy glare remained as she slid toward the door. "First thing in the morning sheriff. Those homes will be expecting you by lunchtime."

…

As Regina stalked out of the station house, she couldn't help feeling a modicum of self-pity as she thought of how well this day began. Singing all the way to her office, she'd successfully nullified the emerging prince charming and had returned her precious hunter to the status of queen's favorite pet. Now, though it seemed her victory concerning Prince James had blossomed into family planning with Kathryn, her control over the sheriff was clearly threatening to unravel. Not to mention that if Emma or Graham did even the slightest bit of digging, they might actually find that old woodsman and those children would be united with their father. Something needed to be done. And fast. Yanking her car door open and crashing into the seat, the queen made a decision. It was time to repay a visit…to her friend in West End.

…

"You look so tired," Mo told his daughter, smiling up at her from his hospital bed.

"I'm fine Papa," replied Rose.

Snow smiled. She still called him 'Papa.' It was one of the many things she'd noticed about Belle in these long hours spent waiting in the hospital. She was so much like the woman Snow knew. Fiercely devoted to her father, intelligent, caring. And if she was not mistaken, she'd seen one or two books peeping out from her bag. But there was still something missing: a spark of wit and strength the curse had drained from her, replacing it with strife and uncertainty. The old Belle certainly wouldn't have needed Snow to speak up on her behalf with Dr. Whale. It was devastating to see such a remarkable beauty reduced in such a way.

"Miss Blanchard," Mo startled her out of her musings.

"Yes sir?"

"Please tell my daughter to go home and get some rest."

Snow gave him a warm smile, looked to Belle and then back again. "I don't think that would do much good Mr. French. Besides, we're still waiting on that consult."

The old man's eyelids drooped heavily and she could see the wear and tear this particular bout had wrought on his already frail body. Even in their old world, Belle's father had a knack for getting sick. But whereas _there _they'd been able to count on herbal remedies imbued with a little diamond mine magic, here there were only tubes and catheters and drugs. "Well at least don't let us keep _you _waiting," Mr. French smiled slightly, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh yes, Mary Margaret. Please. You don't have to wait here all night," added her friend.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away Rose," Snow leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

Father and daughter smiled gratefully just as a gentle knock rapped at the door. "Mr. and Miss French I presume?"

Snow gasped at the familiar voice and gripped the arms of the chair, her heart skipping a beat.

"That's me doctor," Mo wheezed as Rose helped him prop himself up a bit.

Snow pivoted slowly in her seat and watched with a giant lump in her throat as a little man in a hospital lab coat glided in the room. He was only about 5'4" and his voice was as sweet and airy as a bird's. But his eyes were sharp and he surveyed the room through rounded spectacles that rested on the very edge of his nose. His gaze lingered on Snow and for a second she thought she saw a glimmer of recognition. The little man held that gaze and tilted his head. "And I see you have a friend here."

"Yes," Rose stood up from her chair. "This is Mary Margaret—"

"Mary Margaret Blanchard," the doctor said, holding out his hand.

Snow clasped it with both of hers and shook heartily. "Pleased to meet you Doctor—"

"Stone, my dear. Doctor Tobias Stone at your service, but I believe we have met before."

Snow shook her head. "We have?"

"Well, I suppose 'met' isn't quite the word is it? Though I have seen you around the hospital. You used to volunteer here, yes?"

Snow stared blankly, unable to form words for some reason. Her life as Mary Margaret seemed so long ago though she knew it had only been a little over a week since she'd quit her volunteering. Her days spent as Storybrooke's favorite candy striper felt like someone else's life. Volunteering. _That's_ how he knew her. She struggled to hide her disappointment. "That's right," she said finally. "But I only ever worked in the ICU."

Doctor Stone's hand slipped from her grasp but his smile remained. "Ah yes. Well, I rarely make it out of the surgical ward, so our paths would not have crossed often."

"Surgery?" Rose cried, unaware of the reunion she was disrupting. "I thought we were waiting on a cardiologist."

"You were. But Doctor Samuels was called away before he had a chance to review the case thoroughly and asked me to consult. I would have been here sooner, but I only just got out of surgery." With his attention shifted, he walked around the corner of the bed with Mr. French's chart in hand. "Now I have had time to review your chart Mr. French and I _do _agree with Dr. Whale's recommendation. We're going to take you off the Coumadin so your blood thickens and see if that helps stop the bleeding. It has ebbed a little I understand?"

"Yes," Mr. French and Rose said together.

"Good. Now I understand your concern, but our immediate priority must be to get the bleeding to stop completely. Only then can we get a better look at what the larger issue may be."

"If the bleeding doesn't stop…" Rose gulped, clasping her father's hand. "W-will he…I mean Dr. Whale seemed unable to give me an answer when I asked—"

"I won't lie to you my dear." He regarded father and daughter very seriously. "If the bleeding doesn't stop, that would be a great concern. But we're not there yet. And even if we are, I can tell you that will hardly be the last thing we can try. Dr. Whale did not want to mention the surgical options available in that event because your father _is _a risky candidate."

"But you don't agree?" Snow leaned forward in her chair, finally finding her voice.

"Oh I agree that _any_ surgery is risky," said Stone, but then he smiled and looked back at Mo. "But not impossible. Trust me Mr. French. You are in good hands at this hospital."

"No, we're in good hands with you," Snow said, unable to help herself as she stood and joined Mo on the other side of the bed.

"Well thank you dear," the doctor said, his rosy cheeks bursting into a wide grin.

"No, thank _you_..." Snow replied, "_Doc_." Snow beamed at him with pride as she watched her old friend carefully talk through the options and possible diagnoses with Belle and her father. He had such a gentle soul, such a loving heart. He had been easily the smartest and most empathetic of all the dwarfs and it was a joy to see that the curse had not robbed one bit of that intellect, preserving in him the skills of a true doctor and the hands of a surgeon.

After a while, when the bed-sheets had soaked through, Doctor Stone paged a few nurses to help change the dressings and administer his orders while he escorted daughter and friend back out into the vestibule. "Thank you again Doctor, for explaining so patiently," Rose shook his hand.

The relief in her voice was a joy to Snow's ears.

"My pleasure dear. I'll be back to check up in a while once the blood has had time to thicken. In the meantime, I suggest you try the blueberry pie in our cafeteria. It's delicious."

Snow choked back a sob. Blueberry pie had always been Doc's favorite.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," Rose wrinkled up her nose and grinned the first real smile Snow had seen all evening.

For a few moments, they just watched as he retreated, and then Snow placed her arms around Belle's shoulders and sighed. "You see? Everything is gonna be fine."

Rose too let out a small sigh of relief. "I'm sorry I've been so panicked all day. Things just," she glanced back at her father's exam room. "Things change by the hour with him. One minute he's fine, the next he may be _dying, _and then the next he's fine again."

"I know."

"He's had so many problems for…for so long," she shook her head, hugging herself around her waist. "I just wish he could catch a break."

"Well don't you worry. Like Doctor Stone said. He'll be—"

"Rose!" they heard and both whipped around. A man was stalking toward them, his thick boots pounding down the hallway that led from the elevators. Belle seemed to recognize him instantly, for she did not look surprised. When his face drew closer and came into view, Snow let out a tiny gasp. That face. That sharp angular face and wavy black hair atop a muscular build that (she hated to admit) rivaled her own husband's. It was Gaston.

"Jack," Rose said as he continued toward them.

Snow shot her a look. _Jack? _As in Jack from Garcon's with the lemons and the limes and- she held her breath, bracing herself for a confrontation. So _Gaston_ was Belle's boss. Well if he were here to give her a hard time about missing her damn bar shift, so help her-

"Oh Rose," Jack cried as he wrapped his arms around Belle's waist and lifted her to him, burying his face in thick curls of brown hair against her neck. "Baby, what is going _on_?"

Snow's jaw just about hit the floor as she stared, flabbergasted at a sight that, quite frankly, disgusted her. She happened to know that the last time Gaston tried to embrace the brunette, he'd gotten Belle's knee in the groin…right before Adam nearly ripped out his throat. What on earth was he doing calling her 'baby' and scooping her up in his arms?  
>"I'm…I'm fine, Jack," Rose managed, catching Mary Margaret's eye from beyond his shoulder, her face flushed with embarrassment. Jack set her down and drew back from her, grasping her firmly by the shoulders.<p>

"You're _fine_?" he tensed, squeezing her arms. "Why the hell didn't you call me? Your dad's in the hospital again and I have to hear about it from _Sean _as he walks in the door to cover your shift?"

"I know," Rose said quietly, now purposefully avoiding Mary Margaret's gaze. "I know I'm sorry. I should have called. It's just…everything happened so fast and Ashley was right there when the hospital phoned and—"

"Babe, you _tell _me when these things happen, you understand? I won't have you going through this kinda thing alone."

"Oh I wasn't alone," Rose squeaked, shifting out of his grasp and resisting the urge to massage where he'd been gripping her. "Mary Margaret was with me. Jack this is Mary Margaret Blanchard. She's the schoolteacher at Storybrooke Elementary?"

Jack seemed to notice for the first time that there was anyone else in the room. He turned to the black-haired beauty and ran his eyes up and down her form. When his eyes met hers however, he started. She was…glaring at him. Why was she glaring at him?

"Pleased to meet you," Snow said coolly, extending her hand.

"Likewise," Jack said, briefly perplexed by the steely look in the school teacher's eye and then immediately losing interest. "Babe," he turned back to Rose. "You _call _me next time, you hear? We're in this together. You and me."

"And her _father_," Snow interjected, practically spitting it in Gaston's direction. The brute turned to her, staring down incredulously, and then back to Belle.

"And of _course _your father. That goes without saying."

"It certainly did," Snow muttered under her breath, though Gaston seemed not to hear. At that moment, Snow felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She ignored it, listening intently to the repulsive exchange.

"Rose," Jack's grip had returned to Rose's arms, though less forcefully. "You've been here too long. Let's take a walk, get some air huh? Whadya say?"

Snow glared at him. Take a walk? With her father bleeding in the next room? Seriously?

Nervously, Rose glanced between him and Mary Margaret. "Actually, Mary and I were just talking about getting—"

"Some blueberry pie," Snow interjected, reaching into her purse and grabbing a $20. "From the cafeteria. It came highly recommended. Would you mind, Jack?"

The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable and it certainly wasn't missed by the man. But from what Snow could tell, his reaction was not one of recognition. No, he seemed merely…annoyed. She was hardly surprised; Regina wasn't dumb enough to entrust the secret of the curse with the likes of Gaston. But it certainly seemed that as 'Jack' … he hadn't changed much.

"Sure," he grunted, held his hand up, and refused her money. "My treat. I'll be right back."

Snow let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding since he got there as they watched him strut down the hall. A few moments passed, and then she turned to Belle. "So that's…Jack."

Rose's eyes slid shut, mortified. She knew what that must have looked like. And she knew she must reply. "Yeah that's…that's him," she muttered and finally turned to her new friend.

"Why didn't you tell us he was…that he was more than your—"

"My _boss_?" Rose let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head. "I don't know. Embarrassment I guess." She sighed and rubbed her arms. "Plus Ashley and Sean don't know and I…I want to…" she glanced up. "I want to keep it that way."

Snow frowned and touched her shoulder. "Rose, your business is your business. And I respect that but—"

"I know," she sighed and rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling. "I know…believe me, sleeping with the boss is…not my proudest moment."

Belle's confirmation of the affair sank into the pit of Snow's stomach. They're _sleeping _together. Wherever Adam was, he was going to be so…pissed.

Rose slid away from her and slumped into a waiting room chair, rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, rubbing her palms together. "It happened the last time Pa was sick," she explained, though her voice was far away. "He'd had a blood clot that caused a small heart attack and they had to keep him overnight for observation. So they sent me home to get some sleep."

Snow moved back to the set of chairs and sank down next to her. Patiently, she waited for her to continue.

"I had to call off _that_ night too, and phoned Jack on my way home to tell him I'd be out the next few days. About an hour later he knocked on my door."

Snow closed her eyes, sensing where the rest was going. How typical of Gaston. Preying on a weak moment.

Rose took a deep breath and told the rest. "When I opened the door, he was standing there with a bag of Chinese food and a rose. Said he didn't want me to be alone."

Snow clenched her teeth. A _rose_, she thought angrily on behalf of Adam, though there was no way of course that Belle could grasp the irony.

"After that he…well, he kept coming by and we…sort of…fell into a routine." Rose closed her eyes, drifting back to that night: the night when she'd given into temptation and surrendered herself to the soulless, carnal pleasures Jack had offered, an empty, loveless fix for the fear and stress over her father's illness. With a sigh, she ran her palms down her thighs, pushing herself back against the chair. "I've tried to…I mean, I kept meaning to break it off," she shook her head. "But he was…I mean, I j-just…couldn't."

Snow watched as Belle's gaze drifted further and further away, though she noticed it was not the glassy Storybrooke-curse look she and James had seen about town in others. No…this was a very specific memory – one this woman had truly experienced or one she'd been designed to recall so clearly that it had completely enveloped her, trapping her as the curse itself had. "Rose," she whispered tentatively, touching her hand. Belle looked up. "Does he…hurt you?"

Rose straightened up immediately. "Oh no," she said, shaking her head. "No it's nothing like that."

"Really? Because he practically ripped your head off for not _calling _him."

Rose sighed, glancing in the direction where Jack had disappeared. "I know," she admitted. "I know he has…a temper. And he can get…a little over-zealous sometimes." She looked up again. "But he's not abusive." There was conviction enough in her voice as she said it, though she couldn't help but think on what was sure to be bruises on her arms by morning. The schoolteacher regarded her carefully, and there was still some doubt there, she thought. But that couldn't be helped. Rose barely believed herself anymore. Why should Mary? She sighed again, and twisted in her chair to face her companion, deciding to come clean about the one thing in the relationship of which she was absolutely sure: "It's not him, Mary Margaret. It's me…I'm just…I'm not strong enough to end it." The two looked at each other for several moments, one woman's eyes filled with sympathy and compassion, the other's with shame. Eventually, it was too much for Rose to handle and she retreated, pushing herself off the chair and moving to the other side of the waiting area. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall, watching the door of her father's room for signs that the nurses were through.

Snow opened her mouth to speak but then her phone vibrated again, and she realized it was the third message in an hour. Pulling it out of her purse, she flipped it open and was a little shocked to find three text messages from Emma:

**Emma: HEY, CAN YOU MEET ME AT THE HOUSE? – 7:11**

**Emma: IF YOU GET THIS IN THE NEXT FEW MINUTES, CALL ME – 7:42**

**Emma: WHERE ARE YOU? – 8:09**

Though the writing was electronic, the panic in her daughter's messages was as evident as the worry in her husband's uneven script. Something was wrong. Her daughter needed her. And though she worried about leaving Belle, this latest development with Gaston would clearly not be resolved in one night (besides, they _still _had no idea where Adam was). Anxious to return to her daughter, she keyed in a quick response and snapped the phone shut. "Rose," she said rising from her chair. Belle did not turn around, but remained by the wall, resting her head against it. Snow touched her shoulder and finally the woman turned, wiping a single tear that leaked from the corner of her eye. Snow sighed. "My…roommate has been texting me for the last hour. It…sounds like something might be wrong."

Rose opened her mouth to reply but then shut it when she glanced down at the phone in Mary's hand. She nodded, her arms wrapped around her middle. "Thank you for waiting with me."

Belle looked crestfallen, and Snow rushed to continue, determined that her friend understand that the timing of her departure had nothing to do with the confession about Gaston. "Look," she slipped the phone in her coat's pocket as she shrugged it on. "I'm going to tell you something that will probably sound…strange." Belle regarded her, eyebrows raised. "And I don't expect you to believe me," Snow continued. "I mean I don't know why you would…but _you_…are one of the smartest, and _bravest _women I've ever met." Belle's eyes grew wide with confusion and wonder, and she was about to protest, but Snow wasn't finished. "If there's _anyone _strong enough to end this…it's you."

Rose stared open-mouthed as Mary Margaret buttoned up her coat, pulled on her gloves and slung her purse over her shoulder. "I…" she grasped for words, all vocabulary fleeing from her brain as she scrambled to string together any two words that might make sense. "I…appreciate that," she managed, "but there's no way…I mean you don't know—"

"I do though," Snow cut in, this time smiling broadly as she placed a mitten-covered hand on Belle's shoulder once more. "As sure as I'm standing here. And one day you'll understand that, I promise."

Rose continued to stare in disbelief. Having already believed Mary Margaret could not have said anything stranger, she was now at a total loss for words.

"For now just…trust me." She let her hand slip from Belle's arm and clutched the strap of her purse. "You can end it…if you want to." And with that, she glided away, leaving a thoroughly perplexed beauty in her wake.

…

The cottage Emma now called home was indeed far more suited to the children than the police station, and the deputy couldn't help but notice the calming effect Mary Margaret had had on Nick and Ava the instant she walked in the door. Having given only the hastiest and sketchiest of explanations to her roommate, Emma had watched in awe as her roommate offered no objections to their staying the night and set straight away to fixing up dinner, TV trays and conversing as easily with them as if she were their favorite aunt. Emma supposed it should be no great wonder. The woman _was _a teacher after all. Still, the ease with which she…_mothered_ them stirred something strange in Emma's soul: a measure of heartfelt kinship and, inexplicably, regret.

"And she just…showed up? With papers in hand?" Snow whispered, watching the two children seated on the couch beyond where she and Emma were talking.

"She was already verifying everything with Graham by the time I got back," Emma hissed, her arms crossed tightly in front of her.

Even from her position across the counter, Snow could hear the tight crunching of Emma's leather jacket as she squeezed the sleeves together in fists of anger. With the kids well-fed and glued to the TV, she'd finally been able to get the whole story from Emma: a remarkable story. One, she knew, that struck very close to home for her daughter. "That's really…fast," she said.

Emma nodded vigorously. "Right? That's exactly what I said. She seems _awfully _rushed to get these kids out of town, and has made it virtually impossible for Graham and I to even _begin _searching for their father."

Snow nodded, opening the fridge and retrieving a few oranges and pears from the bottom drawer. "Especially since it's already so late," she added, sliding a cutting board into the middle of the island. She'd retrieved a cutting knife from the drawer and began cutting the fruit into snack-bite wedges.

"Graham of course sided with _her_," Emma scoffed, more to herself than to Mary.

Snow glanced up. "What does _he_ think?"

Emma rolled her eyes and sighed. "Basically? That she's freaked out about having had these two orphans running around her town for so long. That she's just rushing to cover her ass."

Snow paused mid-peel and snorted. "Well…that _also _sounds like Regina," she admitted. But as she continued to study the children across the room, she knew better. She didn't recognize Nick or Ava from her old world and only vaguely recognized them from school, but if Regina was working this hard to get them out of town, they were clearly significant to maintaining the curse in some way. "I agree with you though. It is rather…suspicious that she already had paperwork made out and everything."

Emma blinked in surprise. "Thank you!" she said, gratefully. She had honestly expected Mary Margaret to agree with Graham's admittedly more logical explanation. Emma felt very strongly that she was right, but couldn't offer any legitimate reason the mayor would chase the Zimmers out of town _other _than to ensure proper and official foster care.

"Did um," Snow said slowly, arranging the fruit wedges on a plate, "did _Henry_…have any theories?"

Emma jerked back. "Henry?"

Snow smirked. "Yeah Henry. You know…your son?"

"I know _that,_" Emma rolled her eyes.

"Well did you ask him?"

"Ask him _what_?" she whispered, glancing back at the kids to make sure they weren't listening. "If he knew which _fairy tale _characters Nick and Ava are?" Emma finished with a light chuckle, expecting Mary Margaret to laugh as well, but the schoolteacher shocked her with an expression devoid of amusement. "Are you serious?"

"Why not?" she countered and was answered by the most incredulous grin. Snow took a deep breath as she set her cutting knife in the sink. "Look, I know this whole fairy tale thing is…out there," she said carefully, knowing how precarious she must be in broaching this subject with her jaded daughter. "But you have to admit that Henry's theories have led to some pretty…interesting results."

Emma crossed her arms and huffed. "Like him and Archie almost being buried alive?"

"_And_ you helping Ashley escape Mr. Gold. And David waking up," she challenged.

Emma bristled at the mention of David, but didn't respond.

Snow sighed. "Look, I'm not telling you to…buy into it," she said, though she wished with all her heart she could reveal how much of it was _true_. "But you have to admit, he has a way of…guiding you to the truth." She paused, allowing her suggestion to sink in, for she could tell Emma was at least considering it. "Just…ask him," she added softly. "You _know _it'll make his day. And if _anything _good comes out of _this_—" she threw a glance over at Nicolas and Ava, then looked back again, "—let it be that."

Emma shook her head, regarding Mary Margaret the oddest expression. For it was not in defiance or doubt that she stared, but rather in wonder. Why did people keep saying things to her that should make absolutely no sense and that every rational, pragmatic fiber in her being screamed for her to ignore, and yet at the same time seem perfectly reasonable? She opened her mouth to reply but a loud knock at the door startled them both.

"Who is that?" came Ava's voice across the room. The women looked over to see that Ava had sprung to her feet at the threat of intrusion, her brother huddled close behind her. How many times, Emma wondered, had they feared detection over the years? Had they lied their way out of getting caught? How _much _of herself did she see reflected in the eyes of this little girl? And how _desperately _did she want – no…did she _need _to help them?

"It's all right, I'm sure it's nothing," Emma held out her hand, indicating that they should stay and stand down as she went to the door. She flung it open, bracing herself to find Regina or Graham. But when she opened it, she stared for a split second at thin air…and then _down_ at her son. "Henry!" she cried.

"Hey Emma," the ten-year old said casually as he walked right into the house and straight over to the Zimmer kids.

"Kid—what—" Emma spluttered and then looked to Mary Margaret. "What'd you do, _call _him over here?"

But Snow was just as surprised as her daughter and shook her head at once, taking the plate of fruit with her as she came around the kitchen island and joined the children at the couch. "_I _didn't know he was coming," she said, setting the fruit down in front of Nicolas. "Henry, where's your—" Her eyes at that moment fell on the large brown volume Henry had clutched to his chest. It was the book. Slowly, she straightened up as her grandson plopped down beside Ava and let it rest on his lap. "How…did you get—"

"Where's your mom, Kid?" Emma barked, not really wanting a repeat of any number of threatening conversations hashed out again with the mayor.

Amazingly, the boy was not phased by the panic of either woman. After flashing a toothy grin at Ava, he turned to his mom first. "She went out. Said she be back really late and that I should put myself to bed." Then, propping the book up straight on his knees, he shifted around and looked at Mary Margaret. "And I got it out of your desk drawer Miss Blanchard."

"You got—" Snow stuttered, shaking her head, "but I locked it—"

"_You_ had the book?" Emma asked.

"I found your desk key."

Snow jerked a glance over at her purse. "You found—Henry—"

"Wait, _why _did you have his book?"

"Well it's really _her_ book—"

"How did you get my key?"

"Henry—"

"The same way I got your credit card—"

"HEY!" Emma shouted, and the room settled down. "Could we have one conversation at a time please?"

"I agree," Snow said with a nod, glancing down at the Zimmer children who were watching the chaotic exchange with rather absorbed fascination. "Henry, what do you mean you got it from my desk drawer? It's Saturday. The school's closed."

At this, Henry stared down at his lap rather sheepishly. "I…have _that _key too," he admitted, recalling the morning a few months ago when he'd followed the queen to the square and saw her use her spare to get into the corner drug store. From then on, he became obsessed with the idea that his evil adoptive mom had to have spares for other places too and, right before he'd run away to Boston, he finally found the one to the school. He glanced up at his grandmother, for the first time ashamed, and sighed. "I'm…sorry I broke in, but I had to find out—"

"Wait a second," Emma cut in. "Why did _you _have it in the first place?" she turned to Mary Margaret who was still staring open-mouthed at the kid.

"I…uh…" Snow shook her head, still quite in awe of her industrious little grandson. What a clever little sneak he was turning out to be! She turned to Emma, but managed to flash Henry an approving grin to relieve his guilt. Henry beamed back at her gratefully, his blue eyes sparkling like her husband's. "I just wanted to um…check something," she finished lamely.

"Uh huh," Emma replied, unconvinced. But she turned her attention back on Henry. "You _sure _your mom'll be gone all night?"

Henry thought for a moment. "She said she had… 'business' to attend to." He turned and looked at Grandma Snow. "And when she says _that_?...she's usually gone all night."

The statement had a silencing effect on the room. Snow, of course, knew _exactly _what Henry meant. Nicolas and Ava were still staring silently, trying to follow anything that was being said. And Emma…well, even the mere mention of the mayor seemed to bring the more immediate situation with the Zimmer children back to the foreground.

Glancing between all three children now, she took a deep breath. "Henry," she began, approaching the other end of the couch. She looked at the book and then back up at Mary Margaret who gave her an encouraging nod. "What did you um…" she gulped and lowered herself to the edge of the couch. "What'd you find out?"

As if he'd been waiting to hear the question all evening, Henry parted the book and let it fall open on his lap, turning immediately toward Ava and Nicolas at the other end of the couch. "I know who you _are_," he proclaimed with joy to who he hoped might become his new friends. "I thought I remembered early today, but I had to get the book to be sure."

Emma gave Mary Margaret another worried glance as he flipped through the pages, but Mary's eyes were glued on Henry as she waited for the kid's next revelation.

"Whadya mean, who we _are_?" said Nicolas, his small voice seeming to almost startle himself as it was really the first time he'd spoken without taking a cue from his sister.

"Yeah, what is that?" Ava chimed in, letting her curiosity for this strange book surpass the awkwardness of being saddled in the middle of a rather bizarre family dynamic.

"It's a storybook," Henry replied as he continued flipping, his small hands leafing through pages and pages of colorful oil paintings and prose.

"Well we can _see _that," Ava responded, her voice suddenly droll.

Henry looked up. "Well…yeah but it's not just—" he stopped himself, truly thrown for the first time tonight, and rested his palm over an open page.

Emma gulped, glancing uncomfortably between Henry and Ava. Poor kid, she thought sadly. It was just now occurring to him that Ava and Nicolas…wouldn't automatically believe. So keen to have more allies for Operation Cobra, so dedicated to this self-imposed mission of his, he was completely unprepared for the guarded close-mindedness with which runaway orphans were forced to approach this cruel world. Nervously, he looked over at Emma, his expression helpless, and suddenly it was all too clear what she needed to do. "It's not just a storybook," Emma said and she felt rather than saw Mary Margaret shoot a startled glance in her direction. Smiling down at her son, she sat beside him and slid the book over so that it rested between their laps. "It's real."

Henry's jaw dropped and he whipped his head around to Snow before beaming back at him mom. Nicolas's expression also shifted from doubt to intrigue, but Ava's remained dubious. "Whadyou mean it's real?"

Emma placed her hand over the pages. "These stories? Well they're about people in this town. People in Storybrooke."

Nicolas skirted around his sister and crouched down on the other side of the coffee table, straining to get a look. Ava moved a bit closer too, peering over Henry's shoulder at a few illustrations, but she drew back and pursed her young lips together. "_These_," she pointed down at drawings, "look like _fairy tales_."

"They are," Henry chimed in, straightening up with fresh confidence inspired by his mom. "But they all _actually_ happened. You were cursed into this world by an evil queen."

"Right," Ava said sourly. "I _knew _I left my magic wand somewhere."

"Hey!" Emma barked, ready to scold, but Henry interrupted.

"You don't _have_ a magic wand," he said wryly. "You're not a fairy."

Ava scoffed, bolting to her feet. "This is stupid! Nicolas, let's go—"

"_Hold on_ a minute," Emma pleaded, reaching her arm across her son and clasping Ava's wrist. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mary Margaret move in behind Ava, looking on supportively as she watched the conversation play out. "Look," Emma sighed, drawing back when she was confident Ava wouldn't immediately bolt again. "I know it's _a lot _to believe. It's…still hard for me." She glanced down at Henry and then back to the girl. "But believe me, _every_ time Henry shows me something in this book? Something _amazing_ happens. And if we have any hope of keeping you and your brother together…we _need _something amazing to happen."

Ava looked between Emma and Henry and then over to her brother, expecting to find the same 'gimme-a-break' expression as her own, but Nicolas wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the book, completely mesmerized.

Cautiously, Emma leaned back and looked at her son. "Who _are _they, Henry?"

He gave her a proud, goofy grin and then slowly flipped back a few pages. Pausing, he glanced around the entire group and then laid the book on the coffee table, opened to a full-color illustration of two kids standing beside a wheelbarrow with a broad-shouldered woodsman crouched down beside them. "Hansel and Gretel," he said quietly. From behind them, he heard Snow gasp.

Emma jerked around. "What?"

But Snow shook her head. "I just…I remember that one now, that's all."

Emma looked back at the illustration and stared. The clothing they wore was decidedly Dutch and the man pictured beside them was painted with his back to the reader. But the girl's long golden curls, the boy's dark wavy mop…both kids were carbon copies of the Zimmers. And the way 'Hansel and Gretel' were grinning up at the woodsman whose arms were braced one on each of their shoulders as if the picture was a snapshot taken just before he'd embraced them both – well, the image of such a clearly happy family struck the young deputy as rather incongruous given the children's impending trip.

Nicolas, who all the while had been glaring with intense fascination, propped himself up on the table with the heels of his palms and strained a look at the picture. Seeing this, Henry reached forward and slid it around, affording the young boy a proper look. "Ava," he whispered, running his hand over the page. "It's _us_."

Ava hadn't moved or said a word since Henry's revelation and staunchly refused to look closely.

"Ava," came Miss Blanchard's voice behind her. The schoolteacher placed her hands on Ava's shoulders and crouched slightly beside her. "You know the _best _chance you and your brother have of staying together is if Emma _finds _your father." Gently, she gave her a little nudge. "What would it hurt to look?"

The girl seemed to sense she was outnumbered, so she grudgingly plopped back down next to Henry and shifted the book back to her. When she saw the image of the two children, she too was admittedly stunned by the resemblance, but refused to admit it out loud. After several long moments of her looking at the book and feeling everyone else's eyes on her, she was about to push the silly story away from her and insist this was all still…nonsense. But something else in the painting caught her eye. Something the girl 'Gretel' was holding in her hand. Leaning forward a bit more, she squinted at the page, scrutinizing the very small detail and gasped. "Nick," she whispered. "Look."

Nicolas immediately looked to where his sister was pointing. "It can't be!" he said.

"What?" asked Henry.

More than a little spooked, the girl looked up at Emma. "Well…I'm not saying it _means _anything—"

"What is it?" Emma asked anxiously.

"It's the…the…" Ava looked back down, still not trusting her own eyes. But Nicolas finished for her.

"It's our father's compass."

"His what?"

"His compass," Ava confirmed. "Mom gave it to us a long time ago." She was staring straight ahead as she spoke, as if trapped in a sort of half-trance.

"Do you still have it?" Emma asked hurriedly, her mind spinning.

"Ava does," Nicolas said quickly, looking over at his sister. "Give it to her."

"Mom said not to give it to anyone—"

"Mom's _dead_, Ava. Give it to her!"

The room went silent again as all eyes turned to the young boy, whom everyone could agree had stayed mostly in his sister's shadow. But for whatever reason, he had latched right on to Henry's version of things, and Emma found she couldn't really blame him. The likeness between him and this 'Hansel' was quite uncanny, and the idea that there was a man out there like this woodsman who so clearly adored his children and was only being kept apart from them by an evil curse was far more attractive a scenario than facing the possibility that their real father just…didn't want them. Emma remembered when she'd finally had to accept her own cruel fate as an orphan. If Henry's theory kept that realization at bay, then so much the better.

Ava and Nicolas were still staring at each other, locked in some sort of telepathic stand-off, but at last the sister relented and went over to the easy chair on which she'd dropped her book bag. With another glance at the group, she sighed and retrieved the compass, bringing it back to the couch and placing it reverently in her lap. "Our mom kept it," she said quietly. "She said it would…help us find him."

Emma's breath hitched in her throat as the sudden vulnerability of this child squeezed her heart. She could tell instantly what the trinket meant to Ava. After all…in all the places Emma had lived, all the cities she'd moved to…she always took her baby blanket.

Ava glanced at her brother who nodded. "If I give it to you, do you promise we'll be able to stay together?"

Emma felt the words getting caught in her throat and instantly she thought of the mayor's warning today: _I suggest you stop making promises you can't keep. _But she would not let that stop her. Holding out her hand, she peered into the lost girl's eyes and nodded. "I promise."

Hesitating a moment more, Ava sighed and placed the compass in Emma's palm. And when Emma closed her fingers around it, she could feel the weight of what it meant to the girl in her hand. "Thank you," she whispered with a small smile to both children; she rose from the couch, leaving the kids in the sitting room and went right for her coat.

"Where are you going?" she heard behind her as she shrugged on her lucky red-leather jacket. Emma turned toward a panicked Mary Margaret.

"Whadyou mean where am I going? Gotta see what I can find out about this." She gave the compass a little shake before threading it through her sleeve.

Snow glanced up at the kitchen clock. "It's almost nine-thirty; what're you gonna do?"

Emma bit her bottom lip and thought for a moment, the answer buzzing in her head like a song. She held up the compass in front of her and gave it a little nod. "Gonna see a guy who likes buying…treasure."

Snow's eyebrows rose high on her head in comprehension. "You're going to Mr. Gold's?" she whispered. "The man who almost _bought_ Ashley's baby?" Her heart was racing. That's not _all _'Mr. Gold' had done of course. But she couldn't tell Emma that. And really, they were out of options and out of time.

"Do you have any better ideas? Graham is picking them up first thing tomorrow and heading to Boston. I'm not gonna let that happen."

Unable to offer alternatives, Snow shook her head, fearing for her daughter's safety where Rumpelstiltskin was concerned, but forcing herself to remember: Emma Swan could take care of herself.

"Keep an eye on them," Emma nodded toward the Zimmers and turned toward the door. She was halfway across the threshold when she stopped and stepped back inside. _You know it'll make his day_, Mary Margaret had said. _And if anything good comes out of _this…_let it be that._ She knew it was risky, but Mary had been absolutely right about Henry and his theories. Once again, against all odds, that crazy storybook of his had given them a clue. Hastily, she took a step toward the sitting room and grinned down at her son who was busily showing Ava and Nicolas the rest of their story. "Hey Kid," she called.

Henry jerked his head up. "Yeah?"

Emma smiled. "You comin'?"

…

_The Radley Place fascinated Dill. In spite of our warnings and explanations it drew him as the moon draws water, but drew him no nearer than the light-pole on the corner, a safe distance from the Radley gate. There he would stand, his arm around the fat pole, staring and wondering…_

Rose stared intently at the passage in front of her, trying to let Harper Lee's precocious Scout distract her from the events of the day. _To Kill a Mockingbird _had always been one of her favorite books, so much so that she often carried a small paperback copy in her purse. Reading the novel was usually comfort food for Rose, but not even its brilliant pages could quite sooth the agony of worrying tonight.

It was very late and Jack had long since departed for the evening while she continued her vigil by her father's bedside. Dr. Stone had been in a few more times as well as a host of other specialists. Taking her father off Coumadin had indeed helped control the bleeding, but there was still the ever-present question of _why _he'd started bleeding in the first place and how they were supposed to keep it from happening again. The variety of physicians that had examined him by now all seemed to be in agreement that it was the combination of too many medications that had caused the erosion of Mo's intestines. So the immediate problem could be corrected. But no one could quite come up with an answer for her yet as to how her father was supposed to continue any sort of stable quality of life if he could no longer _take _the medications he supposedly couldn't go without.

And so here she was…waiting. Waiting until morning now, for even Dr. Stone needed rest. Visitation hours had long since expired, but Stone had graciously arranged it so she could stay. Her father, blessedly, was finally resting, but still, she could not bear to face an evening alone at home with so much uncertainty. Jack had invited her over to his house but…well, especially with what had happened in front of Mary, she didn't feel quite up to going _there_. So she turned to the only meaningful comfort in her life: books…

_Inside the house lived a malevolent phantom. People said he existed, but Jem and I had never seen him. People said he went out at night when the moon was down, and peeped in windows. When people's azaleas froze in a cold snap, it was because he had breathed on them…_

An avid reader for…well, for as long as she could remember, it was rare that a good book could not keep her fully occupied and distracted in times like these. But it had been an especially trying day and at this late hour, the halls of this wing were just too quiet. And so she pressed a kiss to her father's forehead and then moved to the door, hazarding a glance down the long, empty corridor outside Mo's room. Satisfied that all was quiet, she stepped out in the hallway, book in hand, and started to wander…

_Miss Stephanie said old Mr. Radley said no Radley was going to any asylum, when it was suggested that a season in Tuscaloosa might be helpful to Boo. Boo wasn't crazy…_

Allowing herself to get lost again in the pages, Rose padded down the hallway, expertly dodging carts, chairs and wet-floor signs lying about the hospital wing despite the fact that she never looked up from the novel. It was a honed skill of hers: walking and reading at the same time. As she turned a page, she also turned a corner and wound up stepping into an elevator with a night-shift custodian. He nodded to her, but she was too absorbed now to notice…

_It was all right to shut him up, Mr. Radley conceded, but insisted that Boo not be charged with anything: he was not a criminal…_

The elevator dinged a few moments later and Rose stepped out, unaware that the custodian had already gotten off a stop before. She turned down another corridor, this one much darker than the wing in which her father slept. Down the hall she could hear sounds that her mind registered as moans and wails of pain, though she did not find them too out of the ordinary. She was in a hospital after all…

_Nobody knew what form of intimidation Mr. Radley employed to keep Boo out of sight, but Jem figured that Mr. Radley kept him chained to the bed most of the time…_

Rose continued her aimless trek, gliding right past the reception desk currently unmanned. Had she been paying closer attention, she might have noticed that the wing was unlike most she'd seen at this hospital. That to enter the admin area, she'd passed through a steel gate rather than an archway. That the sign above the desk read an ominous 'PSYCH WARD' in bold letters hanging from the ceiling tiles. The noises started getting louder as she read on…

_Atticus said no, it wasn't that sort of thing, that there were other ways of making people into ghosts—_

At that moment, a loud clattering startled Rose from her book and she jumped when she looked up, finding herself in completely unfamiliar territory. The hallway was modeled like others here at Storybooke General, but certainly none this dank. She glanced around, hearing more sounds down the corridor and started when she saw the sign and the gate she'd just walked through. If this was indeed the psych ward, why in the world would they have left the entrance unlocked? A quick peek around a corner confirmed her suspicions. Some commotion had clearly alerted the staff away from the admin desk; she saw three nurses and a large, muscular man struggling to drag a patient back to her room. It was likely one of them had just come through the gate when the others rang for help.

Frightened, she turned away, retracing her steps back to the entrance gate…and then she froze. Her breath caught in her throat and something sharp gripped her heart. She'd never felt anything like it before, but it was as if something had gone _through _her. She whipped her head around, looking to see if someone had breezed by her, but she was still alone. Trying to shake it off, she took another step toward the gate…and froze again. There it was: that sharp pain gripping, almost tugging her backward. The hallway down which the initial commotion had occurred seemed to be dying down and she heard footsteps and indistinct chatter as the nurses were returning to their station. Hastily, for she knew she did not belong here, she ducked down the opposite corridor, along another row of rooms attached to the ward. The staff walked right by the hallway entrance, not seeming to notice her, and Rose breathed a sigh of relief. Now was her chance to get away…And then it happened a third time. She stood, paralyzed by the realization that something was keeping her here, almost begging her to stay. And she could feel, though she could hardly explain it, that she was close…very close to the source. To the force pulling her along. Giving in, she clasped her book tightly to her breast and took a deep breath. _You are one of the smartest, bravest women I've ever met, _she heard Mary Margaret's voice. And though she hardly agreed, the schoolteacher's confidence in her prodded her along. She passed by a series of rooms, doors all closed and locked, with the terrifying sounds of whimpering and crying beyond the walls. But she pressed on, determined now to discover this inexplicable force that seemed to have taken hold of her. The tightness in her heart continued to twist and compress her soul to the point where she could barely breathe. What on earth was happening to her? She felt like a magnet being dragged toward an invisible field that she was quite powerless to resist. And then all at once, it stopped. She was standing outside the door of a patient's room, but this one was open. Timidly, she peered around the doorframe into the room and caught her breath.

Inside, a patient lay peacefully on an elevated bed, covered in a pristine white sheet up to his torso. He was relatively young, Rose guessed, in his late 20s-early 30s. Upon closer inspection, Rose noticed the man had tubes sticking out of pretty much every available vein along his arm and she shivered when her gaze swept down his form and she saw the black, industrial Velcro straps, tethering him to the bed. _Psych Ward! _she reminded herself, feeling quite the fool, and she turned to back out of the room…but then found she could not leave. More importantly…she did not want to. She took a deep breath, steeled herself against her rattled nerves, and approached the bed. As she drew closer, the moonlight peaked out from behind a cloud, shining through his barred windows and casting a heavenly glow across his handsomeface. His…_very_ handsome face. No, she thought as a strange thrill coursed through her. Completely inappropriate Rose, she thought, stop that! But the truth could not be denied. This man was…beautiful. His face was long and angular, with a pronounced chin and a rather healthy, rich complexion for a psych patient. His hair was long, matted a bit against the sweat-stained pillows, but she had to resist the urge to run her fingers through the dusty blonde strands at his forehead. She was so close now…too close to be believed for an emotionally challenged bartender who had never ventured beyond the worlds in her book and the walls of her imagination. This was no fantasy though. This was no horror novel. This man was _real_. And what more – she knewhim. She had no idea who he was but…she _knew _him. Against every cautious fiber in her body, she reached forward to touch his cheek, barely able to believe her daring when a voice wrenched her from her stupor.

"What are you doing in here?" it bellowed behind her. She turned, nearly yelping out of her socks from the intrusion, and beheld a tall, slender man with piercing black eyes and a very cross look on his face.

"I'm…I'm sorry," she squeaked in a mousy voice.

"You don't belong here," the tall man growled and Rose found herself almost repulsed by the severity in his expression. He was dressed in a long white lab coat, but underneath was blackness. Black pants, black dress shoes, black shirt and tie. He had jet black hair, parted on the side and cropped short at the back, though his hair trailed in two thin lines from his temples, down his sideburns and under his chin, almost framing his face like it was some sort of austere Victorian portrait. His eyebrows furrowed in one dark line across his brow as he stalked into the room, pounding his fist into the wall intercom. "Nurse!" he called, jerking his head toward the hallway.

"I'm-I'm r-really sorry…I got lost and—" she stammered and shrank back instinctively, crashing against the patient's bed as the doctor advanced on her. She was about to continue when she heard something shift behind her. She whipped around and gripped the metal bed rail for support, and then she gasped. The man…he was awake. And he was staring at her.

Their gazes locked, and though she could sense the doctor getting closer and was sure a nurse had now entered the room, it felt as if everything outside of herself and this patient was happening in slow motion. The man's eyes, a deep penetrating blue, were just as beautiful as the rest of his face and they squinted up at hers as she came slowly into focus. He blinked once…twice…and then his eyes flew wide open. Rose jerked. He…he _recognized_ her.

He swallowed hard, and she could tell that talking was difficult for him. But when finally he spoke, his voice was deep…and rich…and terrifying. "Belle?" he croaked.

Rose's heart sank. He _didn't _recognize her. He thought she was someone else.

"Belle!" he cried again, this time arching upward on his bed, trying to wrench himself free. "Belle!" The violence with which he tugged and yanked against his restraints was unnerving, and even if the doctor and nurse hadn't at that moment shoved her out of the way to contain him, Rose would have stumbled back. She watched in agony as a second nurse ran into the room and skirted around the other side of the bed just in time to catch the man's wrist as he wrenched it free.

"BELLE!" he screamed a third time as Rose backed into a hospital cart, sending it and a half-dozen stacked towels and various toiletries crashing to the ground. "Let go of me!" he bellowed. A third nurse had run in and Rose gasped as she saw her tapping her finger against a syringe in her hand and raised it above her head. "Belle! My love!" she heard, though she could no longer see him amidst the throng of staff pinning him down. "Run!" he screamed at her. "Go NOW!"

And run she did, her book dropping to the floor, as she practically lunged for the door and raced back up the corridor, fleeing the nightmare from which she could not wake.

…

**DICLAIMER: **The title, characters, plot and dialogue from _To Kill a Mockingbird_ is entirely the property of Harper Lee and Warner Books.

***** Kudos to ****burning.., littleoddball, and music nimf (among others I'm sure I'm forgetting) for figuring out many of the easter eggs in the previous few chapters. Because they're not central to the story, I'll give one away: Roger and Anita mentioned in Chapter 12 are the names of Pongo's and Perdita's owners in **_**101 Dalmatians**_**. Several others have already correctly guessed the identity of John (though I won't spoil that one) and a few very sharp readers out there have unknowingly guessed at some scenes and concepts I actually do have planned for the future. Plenty more in store for our beloved characters here. So sorry it's been a while between updates but this particular chapter went through a few different drafts and versions to get just right. **

**Hope you're enjoying. I know my concept for Beauty and the Beast is way off canon from the show, but as I warned you back in Chapter 11 (or was it 10?) I had a really clear idea of where I wanted to take that world and those characters. The Psych Ward scene was actually in my head **_**before **_**I saw the end of "Skin Deep" which is why, in my story, it's a Psych **_**Ward, **_**and not a basement prison block. **

**Want to send special thanks out to Samantha, Rebecca, KayleeThePete, Samantha and Jillian A.K. for such great reviews and perspectives as well as to the hundreds of you who have favorited and/or requested alerts. **

**Very much looking forward to this weekend's episode – more so than other episodes lately perhaps, as I absolutely love Leroy/Grumpy and can't wait to see the woman behind his grief. Judging from the previews, it looks like we'll finally get some meaty David/Emma interaction on the show too – it's about time! **

**Happy Reading/Writing/Living*****

**PS…anyone else just totally stoked that Meryl Streep finally got herself another Oscar?**


	15. The Truth About Parenting

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**The Truth About Parenting**

By the time 'Ashley' had finished explaining about 'Rose's' disturbing news, Thomas was halfway through packing up Alexandra's things to drop her off with Granny. As Ella had assured the ladies at the market, Thomas didn't mind covering for Belle one bit, and he prayed silently that Maurice would make it through this latest bout. The prince had only been awake for a couple weeks and already he had seen his poor friend put through a wringer of emotional upheaval because of her father's health.

When he'd arrived at Garcon's, 'Jack' had stormed right out, no doubt headed for the hospital to hassle Belle about missing another shift. A few nights ago, Thomas would have been worried. But according to Ella…Snow was there. Whatever rage the brute intended to unleash, he knew the princess would have no trouble diffusing it.

"So whadyou think of the new guy?" Thomas asked the rather sluggish looking gentleman seated at the end of his bar. It was 'Leroy', better known as Grumpy, who had grunted loudly when 'Marco' first introduced them all to his new hire that day.

Grumpy shrugged. " 'S all right."

Thomas enjoyed a private chuckle, recalling the slightly stunned look on James's face when Geppetto had brought him back to the auto shop for a brief tour. Grumpy was starting on an oil change for a car that Michael had just towed in. By the time Geppetto finally extricated the former dwarf from beneath the engine, Grumpy was so covered in smudges and stains that he looked…well just like Grumpy had always looked coming out of the mines. "_Glad to know ya_," he'd muttered as he retrieved a rag from his back pocket, spit in the center , wiped his hands "clean" and held it out to James. Thomas could barely contain his laughter as his friend grimaced and shook it.

Now, Leroy was right where he usually was around 8 o'clock in the evening. Drinking. Sometimes he went to Granny's; sometimes he stayed home. But Jack had just gotten in a new case of Sam Adams Oktoberfest, the last in the state apparently. So Grumpy was content to be in Storybrooke's West End tonight. Downing another swig of beer, he shifted in his stool and cleared his throat. "Doesn't know a thing about cars though."

Thomas finished drying a glass before replacing it on the shelf. "Neither did I at first."

Leroy shrugged. "Whatever." He let out a belch and lightly punched his chest with his fist.

"Y'all right?"

The dwarf grinned. "That's some good stuff."

Thomas laughed and shook his head; he was about to respond when the door swung open…and in walked Mayor Mills.

As 'Sean' he supposed he'd seen the mayor dozens of times in the past 28 years. A resident on his old street and member of the high class, Storybrooke elite, Regina knew his father quite well and Thomas could vaguely recall a number of hazy conversations during some high society Christmas parties. But tonight was the first time he'd seen her since he'd awoken from the curse and (as of his conversation with James) since finding out that Regina…was the evil queen.

Her presence at Garcon's was strange in and of itself for Thomas couldn't remember the last time Regina deigned to be seen in West End. As she strode inside, her dark black trench coat hanging open and sailing behind her, she seemed not to care who saw her or the dozens of stares her arrival garnered.

A man seated at the booth scooted out of it immediately as she approached. Thomas watched her cautiously as she sat down.

"Wh't the hell is _she_ doin' here?" grumbled Leroy.

Regina surveyed the room, clearly looking for a specific individual. Her eyes stopped on Thomas who tried to maintain an appearance of nonchalance as he nodded and looked back at Grumpy. "Dunno," he replied. He watched from the corner of his eye as she checked her watch a few times, unbuckled the belt of her jacket and stared impatiently at the door. With a huff, she slid back out of the booth and went up to the bar.

Thomas cleared his throat and walked over to her end. "Evening Mayor," he said in a voice he hoped was casual.

"Sean," she nodded.

"What can I get you?'

She wasn't looking at him. She was still searching the room. Rolling her eyes, she swung her gaze back to the young bartender. "Vodka tonic," she said.

He nodded and started to prepare her drink when an exceptionally inebriated customer slunk out of the back hallway. With an intrusively loud voice, he stumbled up beside Regina, seemed to take no notice of the fact that the mayor was standing right next to him, and gripped the railing, using it to hoist himself up half over the bar. "Welp!" he hiccupped as he lowered himself back down again. "Ahm off Ssshawn!"

Thomas stared at the drunk's sad state and sighed. "G'night Alan. Be careful walkin' home."

The patron gave a sort of sloppy salute. "Ssame ta yew, frennd. And k-kun gratchulations on yer upcomin' nup – n-nuptchewals!" With another hiccup and a wave, Alan staggered out of the bar.

Thomas gulped, looking up at Regina who was now eyeing him with great interest.

"Did he say…nuptials?" she asked with an unreadable expression.

Thomas glanced around at the customers still seated at the bar. He couldn't very well deny it with so many of his regular patrons having heard him announce it earlier. And the queen was going to have to find out in order to apply for the license anyway. But _dammit! _Did it have to come out to her the very next day? The earlier she knew, the more likely she was to figure out some way to interfere. "Yeah," he said finally, though he kept his eyes on his work.

"You and Miss Boyd?"

Thomas focused on preparing her drink. "Uh huh," he said, trying to downplay the news as much as possible. "I mean you know," he added a lemon wedge to the rim of the glass and handed it to her. "Someday."

Regina eyed him with the same inscrutable expression as she received her drink. She kept her grey eyes on his as she took a long sip, then finally, she smiled. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," he said, and he watched as she returned to the booth to wait for her guest.

…

Well this day had just gone from bad to worse. Sean Herman and Ashley Boyd were getting married. In truth, this news was minor compared to the report last week that David Nolan was going to leave his wife, but it was still a threat to the curse. What in the world was happening to her masterfully crafted world? Why were so many things changing? Years of maintaining a cool, stoic appearance kept her from seeming as rattled as she felt, but it was overwhelming the number of new threats that had sprung up in just a few days.

Deciding to save this newest annoyance for tomorrow, she merely smiled at Sean, mumbled a terse "Congratulations" and returned to her seat. A few minutes later, the door to Garcon's opened at last and in walked John, looking just as lanky and slippery as he had this morning in her office. "Twice in one day Madame Mayor?" he muttered as he sank into the seat across from her. "How lucky for me."

Regina glared at him. "Quiet you imbecile," she whispered, leaning forward. "Did you get it?"

He nodded and reached inside his breast pocket. Withdrawing the object slightly, so that only Regina could see, John revealed a small syringe. "Caught 'im coming out of the hospital," he said slipping it back into his pocket. "He was…very compliant, your majesty. As you suspected, he didn't ask any questions when I requested the injection."

"Good," she replied. "You understand what you have to do?"

John leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. "What is that phrase they use here? 'This ain't my first… rodeo?'"

She rolled her eyes. "Could you for once leave your childish idioms at home?" she hissed.

John shrugged. "_You're_ the one who left me in charge of the _lost boys."_

"Enough," she said and withdrew a heavy metal ring from her pocket. Filling almost the entire circumference were hundreds of old skeleton keys, each handle uniquely designed. Methodically, she selected one, twisted it off the ring and held it to him. "Don't…screw up," she said. John reached flippantly for the key and grabbed hold of it, but she maintained her grip, pulling him close. "If you leave even a crumb behind for Emma to find…then you will have _failed _me."

She felt him shiver against her hand, but he maintained his boyish grin as she released the key and he slipped it in his pocket. "Well," he said, patting it safely against his lapel. "We wouldn't want _that _now would we?"

Regina drew back, bringing her drink to her lips.

"And," he cleared his throat after a moment's silence, "what about my…_other _new arrivals?"

She glanced up at him as she slowly sipped her tonic, set it back down on the table and licked her lips. "They set out tomorrow morning."

…

Mother and son had driven together on missions through Storybrooke before, but never following so enlightening an evening as they'd shared in Miss Blanchard's house. They were silent for a long while on the way to Mr. Gold's, with Henry glancing up every so often at Emma as he tried to discern whether his mom might be ready for more…shocking revelations.

Emma in turn, kept glancing at Henry, flashing him nervous smiles when they happened to glance at the same time. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of a world that she felt was slowly unraveling at its seams. At first, she'd just been taking Mary Margaret's advice: Ask Henry about the Zimmers; make him feel important and included; maybe get a clue out of it in the process (after all it _was _true that Henry's book had a tendency of guiding them through coincidences shared between his fictional world and the real one). But this was different. The compass – their father's compass – was actually _IN _the book! Drawn into the hands of a girl the very image of whom was waiting at Mary Margaret's right now. Rationality screamed for her to be sensible: An evil curse – A town frozen in time – Insane. End of story. And yet, there was the compass, lying now across Henry's lap. And if _that _was true…what _else _would she have to accept was true? Against her will, an image of David popped into her head – and she shoved it away.

"Thanks for letting me come," Henry's voice cut through the silence, and she looked down at his grinning face.

She smiled back. "It's your tip, Kid. _I'm _the one along for the ride."

His grin grew wider still. "Do you _really_ think Mr. Gold'll know something about the compass?"

She sighed. "Honestly? I'm not sure. But it's the only thing I can think of right now. I mean look at that thing." She noticed Henry turning it over in his hands. "It's _really _old. I'm betting Gold can at least tell me where someone would buy something like that."

"And then maybe we can find out where Ava and Nick's father got it?"

She nodded, unwilling to confirm it out loud since she knew the chance of turning this random compass into a legitimate lead at this point in the evening was remote. Even if Gold _could _tell her where it might have been purchased, there was no way she'd be able to request the sale's receipt from the vendor until morning. And by then…it'd be too late.

"Emma?" Henry asked and she noticed his voice was a little softer than before.

"Hmm?"

"Do you know where…_my _father is?"

The question stopped Emma's heart cold, and she swallowed hard against this certainly anticipated but not at all endurable question. "Umm…Henry—"

"I mean, " he cut in quickly, the boy's keen radar sensing the immediate tension he'd prompted. He _had_ thought briefly to himself: _now's not the time, Henry,_ but as was usually the case, his curiosity got the better of him.

"No, it's ok…you've got a right to ask," Emma replied, finally finding her voice, though it felt a bit like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. "Umm…your father…" she began, trying to think of something quick. Something heroic: _Your father was a…policeman – no…a FIREMAN! Yes! And when we met he was in training and just after I got pregnant, he—_ but when she glanced down again, staring into her son's hopeful, expectant eyes, she snapped her mouth shut, unable to go through with the deception. _I would never lie to you, Emma…_she heard David's voice echo in her head for about the hundredth time that day. Try as she might, she couldn't get away from it. From _him_. For there he was again, staring up at her, inexplicably, through the eyes of her son. "Your father was…not…a good person." She said it quietly, almost mournfully, for she so wished it wasn't the truth. Henry was looking down in his lap again, and she could tell he'd been hoping the same. "I don't…want … to lie to you Henry," she said and saw him lift his head again. "And someday, I promise, I will tell you everything…when you're ready."

Henry regarded her carefully, his eyes studying her as his sharp young mind processed the rather complex exchange he knew they were having here. At last, his schoolboy grin returned to his face and he gave her a rather decided nod. "Ok," he said. "Thanks."

Emma lifted an eyebrow. "For what, Kid?"

"For tellin' me the truth."

For reasons she couldn't fathom, tears stung her eyes and she smiled down at her son. "You're welcome."

…

The wooden blinds covering the windows of Gold's shop showed no hint of light coming from within as Emma pulled the car up to the curb. At first glance, it seemed closed. But the sign on the door read "Open" and Emma found strangely that she was not at all surprised to see Gold still there at almost a quarter to 10:00.

She put the car in park but left the motor running and twisted in her seat to face her son. "I need you to stay here," she said.

"What? Why?" he protested.

"Because I don't really…trust Mr. Gold. And I don't think we can risk him seeing us together this late at night. At some point, he might tell your mom."

Henry was clearly disappointed, but she could see the gears of his little brain turning furiously, and soon that frown transformed into a sudden epiphany. "Especially since he's Rumpelstiltskin!" he said as if a light bulb switched on in his head.

Emma started, darting her head down in surprise. "He's _who_?"

Henry's mouth hung open like a codfish, realizing his blunder. "Oh yeah I uh…I figured out that Mr. Gold is Rumpelstiltskin."

"As in the guy who spins straw into gold."

"Yup!"

"How'd you figure _that _one out?"

_Pops told me! _he wanted to say. But despite the faith his mom was showing tonight, despite the breakthroughs she'd made almost without realizing, he knew she wasn't quite ready to hear about…_'Pops' _yet. "It's in the book," he said simply. "I found a picture."

She drew back from him, eyeing him like a sleuth. "Uh huh," she said, but decided not to push it. Ava and Nick were running out of time. "Ok, well wait here while I talk with…Rumpelstiltskin."

He winked at her and ducked rather covertly into the back seat.

Unable to keep from laughing at his unfailing tenacity, she tucked the compass in her pocket, kicked upon her car door, shut him inside and entered the shop. As it looked from the street, the store was almost completely dark, save for a small tiffany lamp lit behind the front counter. Her eyes drawn to the light, she stepped toward it and then stopped when she saw Mr. Gold…just sitting there behind the counter. With the shadows cast by the beams and the shelves surrounding him, he seemed to have just appeared from nowhere, but there he was sitting…as if waiting for her.

"Miss Swan," he crooned. "How lovely to see you. To what do I owe this rather late visit?"

Emma withdrew the compass from her pocket and carried it to him. "I'm looking for some information on this old compass," she said, handing it to him. "Any idea where it could've come from?"

"Well, well," Gold said, plucking it delicately from her hands as he held the device out in front of him. "Look at the detail. You know, this is crystal. This jeweled setting?" he pointed to the needle at its center, broken of course, but no less impressive given its age. "Despite the rather unfortunate shape it's in, this is actually a very unusual piece. The person who owned this obviously had great taste." He laid it out in front of him, stretching the chain across the few stray invoices he'd been filing.

Emma looked down at the compass, having not really examined it that closely herself. But Gold's immediate knowledge of the item was promising. "And where would someone like that buy it?" she asked.

"Right here of course."

Emma's head shot up. "You _know _it?"

"Indeed. A piece like this is difficult to forget."

Emma held her breath. Dare she hope? "Do you happen to remember who bought it?"

But Gold chuckled, shaking his head and retrieving his cane from its place leaning against the wall. "Well, I'm good with names Miss Swan, but maybe not that good." Emma's heart began to sink, but then he continued. "However, as luck would have it…I do keep rather extensive records."

She looked up again and watched closely, her heart pounding as she considered the odds of not only Gold recognizing the piece but having been the one who _sold _it as well. Incredible, she thought…_You have to admit that Henry's theories have led to some pretty…interesting results_. Gold startled rifling through a stack of index cards, muttering to himself…_he has a way of…guiding you to the truth._ Emma glanced back toward the entrance to the store and though she couldn't actually see the car and its small occupant, she felt a swell of…what was it…gratitude? No, she realized. Pride. Pride in her son.

"And…yes. Here we are." Gold announced, finding it at last. He'd pulled an index card from his file and made to show it to her. She reached for it, but he paused and held it back, a sly smile alighting his eyes.

Damn, she thought. She knew it couldn't be _that_ simple with Mr. Gold. Flashing him a sardonic grin, she leaned into the counter and asked, "What's your price?"

…

Henry sat staring at the window of Emma's car, blowing puffs of hot air on the chilled glass and then smudging out the steam as he waited for her to return. From where the car was parked, he couldn't see much of what was going on inside, but the wait was no less exciting than the entire evening had been. He wondered where they would go next. If the compass really would lead them to Eva and Nick's father. If in reuniting them together, Emma would continue to weaken the curse and—

So enraptured by the prospect of another Cobra victory, Henry hadn't realized that a car had pulled up behind him or that the driver had gotten out and approached the door. So when a sudden shadow blocked the light from the streetlamp and a knuckle rapped sharply on the window in front of his nose, Henry jumped out of his seat and yelped, glancing up at the stranger. Relief instantly followed when he saw who it was. "Pops!" he cried, rolling down the window at once. "What are you doing here?"

James leaned down, bracing his hands atop the lowered pane. "Snow called me. Said you were headed for Mr. Gold's."

"Yeah!" he replied. "We're on a mission. Emma's inside talkin' with 'im."

"She told you to wait here?"

"Yeah. I thought that was good cuz, you know—" he leaned closer to 'Pops'— "he's Rumpelstiltskin!"

"My thoughts exactly," James said with a small grin, trying to keep his tone light. He was relieved to find Henry safe in the car, but he was petrified at what might have already occurred inside. "Why is she here?" he asked hurriedly, peering through the store's window. Snow hadn't been able to fill him in fully (Kathryn had walked in the den toward the end of the phone call and he'd rushed off the line). She'd said only that Emma had taken Henry with her to the pawn shop. James got the feeling from the call that his wife had wrestled with whether or not to interfere, knowing how independent and tough her daughter had become without them. But the fact that she'd taken Henry had obviously tipped the scales in favor of motherly panic…and James was glad for it. For he knew that Emma already owed Gold _one _favor…

"We're trying to help these kids," Henry was explaining, recounting the case like a detective. "In _your _world, they were Hansel and Gretel!" Henry paused, waiting for some sort of recognition, but the names meant nothing to James. He'd never met any Hansel or Gretel. Henry shrugged (they couldn't know _everyone _he supposed). "Anyway, we're trying to find their father. And we found an old compass they say belonged to him. Emma's in there trying to find out where he might've bought it so we can find out his name."

James whipped his head around and glared at his grandson. "She's trying to get a _name_?" he asked, the illusion of calm destroyed. He regretted the way Henry jumped back from him but this information was pivotal.

"Yyyyeah?" he said slowly. The fear in his grandfather's eyes was unsettling. It was a side of James the boy had not seen yet, and for a moment he couldn't fathom what startled him so. This was Cobra stuff! This was adventure! This was cool!—Then it dawned on him, and he thought back to the very first story he'd read in his book. The one where Rumpelstiltskin informed Snow and Charming of the curse…and asked for Emma's _name_ in return.

"Stay here," James ordered, and he stalked inside.

…

"What's your price?" he heard Emma say as he flung open the door. Without giving the imp any time to respond, he marched forward.

"Good evening, Mr. Gold," he said.

Emma whipped around. "David?" she cried. "What the—what are you—"

"Mr. Nolan," Gold replied, appearing not at all phased by the interruption. "A pleasure to see you again. How did your…_cousin_ like the mobile?"

James froze on his way up the aisle. Dammit, he thought. Why didn't he _ever_ listen to Jiminy's dictums about fibs?

Emma crossed her arms and spun toward him. "Your _cousin_?" she glared.

James glanced in her direction but then moved right past her. "Fine, thank you," he said to Gold. "As soon as I got it repaired."

"Splendid," answered the shopkeeper, folding one hand over the other.

"I need a word," James said, narrowing his gaze at the imp.

"Um, ex-_cuse_ me," said Emma. "We're—"

"Certainly. I was just finishing up a spot of business with Miss Swan and—"

"No you're not," James cut in, stone-faced.

"What?" Emma pushed her way back up to the counter. "What the hell are you doing?"

James maintained his glare on the broker. "I'm afraid this can't wait."

"The _hell _it can't!" she seethed. She gripped his arm like a vise and forced him to look at her. "Do you have _any _idea what you're doing?"

"Yes," he grimaced, withdrawing her grip from his arm and dragging her back down the aisle by her wrist away from Gold. He lowered his voice to a fierce whisper. "Do _you?_"

"Look, I don't know _what_ your deal is, but I'm getting a little tired of the cryptic, ok?" she hissed. "This man could help prevent two kids from being split up in foster care. And I'm not about to let you stop him from helping me—" she started to tug herself back to the counter but James's grip on her remained.

"Emma, I know how important this is to you, but _trust _me when I tell you that _nothing _you get in return is worth owing a favor to this man. Let alone _two_."

Emma gasped. "_Two_?" Okay, _how _and _why _did he know she already owed Gold a favor? "Just what are you—"

"Please," he squeezed her wrist, careful not to hurt her but determined that she heed him. "Wait outside with Henry."

"Not a chance in hell! I need—"

"Emma!" he leveled with her and in the intensity of his gaze, she froze. "I'll get you the name you need," he whispered. "I promise."

She stared at him, paralyzed by his crystalline glare. What the hell was _wrong _with her? Why hadn't she slugged him in the stomach by now? This man had her bewitched, bothered and bewildered all day and yet she couldn't form the words to object. She glanced back up the aisle at Gold – who sat apparently unmoved by the conflict unfolding – and in the end it was Gold's cold stare that shook her out of David's trance. "Fine," she said, shrugging him off of her. "But if you fail—"

"I won't."

The certainty in his tone should have had no effect on her. There was no reason to trust this man.

_I promise you, I…I could never hurt Henry…or you…_

She shook her head…no reason…

_I would never lie to you, Emma…_

Annoyed, she slammed her eyes shut, resisting the echoes, but when she opened her eyes, his were still there. Finally, yielding to instincts she couldn't explain, she turned from him and left the shop.

James watched her go and briefly sighed in relief. Then, steeling himself for the strife yet to come, he spun on his heel and moved toward the counter.

And there sat Gold, his hands smacking lightly together in mock applause. As James approached, Gold let out a humorless chuckle and gave him a wink. "Well well," he said, "Prince Charming to the rescue."

James came to a dead stop at the taunt. Was it coincidence? Unlikely. But he couldn't be sure. He had suspected the day he'd purchased the mobile that the pawn broker knew more than he let on, but there was no way to test it without revealing his own knowledge of the curse. "Just…don't want to see a good woman cheated, Gold."

"Cheated?" Gold drew his hand indignantly over his chest. "I drive an honest bargain, Mr. Nolan. As you are well aware."

"For merchandise, maybe," he said, gesturing to the surrounding shelves. "But I've…heard stories about you. You're not as forthcoming with information as you are with…trinkets."

Gold grinned as he retrieved his cane. Leaning on it for support, he came around the corner and stepped right up to James. "And is that _all_ that mobile was to you?" he sneered, "A trinket?"

James swallowed hard. He was being tested. "You tell me," he replied.

Gold squinted up at him and James got the feeling he was being studied. "I _will _tell you, Mr. Nolan. I will tell you what I know." James's eyes followed him as Gold hobbled past and smoothed his hand over the glass cases that held his most precious items. "I know, for instance, the name of that man Miss Swan needs to know so desperately." He glanced back, but James's expression did not waver. "I know also that… 'David Nolan' _has _no cousin in Boston about to have a baby." He continued on his little stroll, pausing as he came across a gold-plated seashell hanging like a pendant from a chain. "But most importantly," he stopped and turned, "I know that the baby girl for whom that mobile was intended…is standing right outside my shop."

The mere mentioning of Emma's true identity left James completely unhinged, and rather than try to maintain some forced appearance of ignorance, his arm shot forward almost on its own, and he fisted Gold's shirt in his hand, pulling the man nearly off his feet. "How do you know about her?"

Gold sniggered, a hint of that creepy Rumpelstiltskin laugh trickling through. "Temper temper," he tsked. Wouldn't want to ruin that noble reputation of yours."

"How. Did you know. About her." James repeated. "I won't ask you a third time."

"But you already know the answer to that…your _Highness,_" Stiltskin hissed. "After all, your wife traded her name to me in exchange for knowing the queen's plan. Or had you forgotten?"

James's grip on him went limp and Gold used it as an opportunity to shift out of his grasp with precise, almost dainty movements. "The mines," James said distantly.

"Indeed," he replied. "Well your highness, the truth is out. You know my secret…and I know yours." He placed the cane between them and leaned forward. "Now what are we to do about that?"

"Emma's name," James said, his mind still drifting back from that horrid night. _I want her name! I need her name…give me her name! _He shuddered, remembering the night he and Snow had ventured to the mines to discern how the queen would enact her revenge. He'd warned Snow against making deals, but the risk to her daughter's safety was too great for Snow to resist him. "That's how you freed yourself, isn't it?" Gold didn't reply but his head tilted in a slight bow. "You woke up as soon as she introduced herself as 'Emma'…didn't you."

Gold let out a satisfied sigh. "Rule number one of dark curses," he limped over to the door. "Always leave an exit clause."

James scoffed, "Well you'd know all about _clauses_ wouldn't you Stiltskin."

"Gold," the imp insisted as he flipped over his 'open' sign to 'close,' pausing to wink at the woman fuming by her car, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. He turned back to his guest. "I much prefer my name here. It's a bit more dignified."

James adjusted his approach. "Dignified? That's funny coming from a man who _steals_ children for a living," he retorted, hoping to strike a nerve. And he did.

"Watch your tongue, boy," Gold spat, whirling around and pointing his cane at the prince. "Or your liable to wake up tomorrow morning and find yourself cursed again." He moved closer as he sneered. "And this one won't be quite so…escapable."

But James was turning the tables now, unaffected by the threat. With a flippancy almost more becoming of Grumpy, he placed his hands behind his back and bent with exaggerated condescension so he was level with Gold. "I think not."

Gold's eyes narrowed to thin slits. "Is that so?"

"I've been studying this curse, 'Skin," he emphasized the shortened name, knowing how its continued truncation would unnerve the imp he'd gotten to know so well in those mines. "Your magic…doesn't work here, does it?"

The shopkeeper twitched, but made no reply.

James glanced around the shop. "Oh you still know your way around a contract, and I'm betting you've found a way to work the legalities of this world in your favor…but you're not as powerful here, are you?"

Rumpelstiltskin gripped the top of his cane a little tighter but maintained his cool. "And what makes you say that?"

"Well for one thing," James took a step toward him, "if you were, Prince Thomas wouldn't be out of limbo, walking around Storybrooke as Sean Herman would he?"

The panic James had affected in the mage was short lived, for he smiled thinly. "A _charming _theory. Are you willing to gamble that it's all true?"

A strategic move, James thought as he mentally planned his next in this delicate chess match. "I am," he said in a low voice. "Now who have you told?"

Gold cocked his head. "Told what?"

James closed the space between them in one stride. "Enough games, Stiltskin. You _knew_ I was awake when I came in here last didn't you?"

"Perhaps," Gold replied carefully. "But that doesn't mean I've informed anyone."

"Oh really," James folded his arms over his chest, incredulous.

Firmly, Gold tapped his cane against the floor. "Now what would I gain by revealing your secret?" he asked. "If I did that, I would have to reveal my own."

James snorted. "That only means you're waiting to do so when it's of greatest profit to you."

"And why not? When you're in the business of information, _timing _is half its worth. Old news is…well, old news." James cocked an eyebrow but didn't reply. "For instance," the imp continued, returning to his counter, "_time_ seems to be, oh shall we say, running out for your daughter out there? Seems she needs _this_ little bit of information quite badly." He held up the index card he'd pulled for Emma, his crooked teeth twisting into that hideous smile. "Too bad you interrupted our bargain. I wouldn't have asked for...much." Slowly, he moved to return the card to its file when James shot his hand out and stopped his wrist.

"Here's what's going to happen," he muttered through gritted teeth. "You're going to give me the name that Emma needs to solve her case." Stiltskin rolled his eyes, but allowed James to continue. "You're never gonna make another deal with…or _about _Emma again. And…you're not gonna to breathe a word to _anyone_ about what we've spoken of today."

With a sardonic laugh, Gold once again slithered out of James's grasp and gave his hands a shake. "And why would I agree to such terms?"

"Because of what I'm offering you in return."

"You?" Again he chuckled. "How amusing. _You _are little more than an unemployed recovering amnesiac. What could you possibly have to offer me?"

James placed both palms on the glass counter, swallowing hard. For the risk he was about to take turned the words to ashes in his mouth. "Amnesty," he said.

"Amnesty," Gold laughed. "From what? I'm not a criminal here."

"In _Storybrooke_ maybe. But you and I both know we won't be here forever. One way or another, we _will_ be returned to our world. You wouldn't have left yourself an escape clause if you believed otherwise." James paused, allowing his words to sink in, seeing that the bait was working. "The question is, what kind of life do you want to go back _to_?"

The imp took a step back, still holding the card in front of him. "I'm listening."

"You give me everything I want and you have my word that you'll neither be hunted nor incarcerated for any past crimes against our realm."

"_Your _realm? And what of the others?"

"It's a _start_, Gold. You _know_ I can't speak for Phillip or Eric. Plus our kingdom will grant you temporary asylum and speak on your behalf for services rendered in _favor _of restoring Storybrooke's citizens to their true identities."

Gold pondered for a moment, and James nervously glanced outside, praying that Emma wouldn't lose her patience and barge back in before the deal was concluded (though he really wouldn't be in a position to blame her). After what seemed an eternity, the imp drew a blank piece of parchment from the small drawer under his register and placed it on the counter. "Your terms are…agreeable." With a sharp flick of his wrist, he hovered his hand over the parchment and James jerked back as he watched several paragraphs of black calligraphy ink across the page in a decorative scrawl. The ink seemed to seep in from beneath the paper…though Rumpelstiltskin held no pen, and his hand remained a good six inches or so above.

As the terms of the contract were writ delicately down the page, Gold cocked his head up and flashed James a devious smile. "What was that you were saying earlier about my magical abilities?"

James gulped, knowing his surprise was evident and therefore no use in hiding.

Gold twiddled his fingers together and sighed. "Relax, your Highness. You were only _half _wrong. Unfortunately The Dark One's power has been reduced to these simple parlor tricks." He gave the paper a final wave of his hand and looked up as the finishing touches flourished into view. "Not that it doesn't come in handy, mind you," he placed his fingertips on the page and twisted it toward the prince. "I find I'm a horrible typist."

James stared at it warily. The fact that Rumpelstiltskin apparently _did _retain a fraction of his mystical powers changed the stakes. Could they afford the risk that he might find a magical loophole? James thought a moment then shook his head. If there was one thing he had learned about Stiltskin it was the ironic legitimacy of his business transactions. A contract was a contract – legal, binding and completely unbreakable…for _both_. Signing his true name to this deal would seal both their fates. Scanning down the page, he nodded and held out his hand for a pen.

Gold withdrew a quill from the same drawer and held it out. James reached forward to take it…and then Gold drew back. "Just…one thing more."

James's heart sank. There it was. The last minute proviso. "It's a fair deal, old man. The terms are already drawn."

"And can just as easily be altered before signing. Amnesty is a most generous offer, but I've no guarantees that when this curse finally does break…_you'll _still be around to honor it." He grinned a devilish smile that sent chills up James's spine. "And even if you _do _survive, your kingdom's mercy pales in comparison to the favor already owed to me…by your charming daughter."

James pounded his fist on the glass, wishing it would shatter. "I told you. No more deals—"

"No more deals with or about Emma I know – that is _written _plainly as you see here," he waved the prince off dismissively. "But I want some insurance for the one I already made."

"What do you mean?" he growled.

Gold leaned forward and hovered his hand once more over the contract, weaving a new clause at the bottom. "As a condition of this deal, I want your _word_ that when the time comes for me to collect on my favor …You. Will. Not. Interfere."

James gaped in pain as the weight of this last request felt like a sword had been plunged into his gut. He was playing with fire, that much he knew already. But dare he risk such a condition? There was so much that could backfire. No limit to what Stiltskin might ask Emma to do. And if his _own _little escape clause failed, he'd be bound and powerless to stop it. Still, as he glanced back at the window, knowing how much she was counting on him to help those kids, he knew he must keep his promise. He _must _get her that name. Or all trust would be lost between them forever.

The quill came further into view and he looked up, seeing that Stiltskin was holding it patiently, right in front of his nose. The ticking of various clocks in Gold's shop was suddenly deafening as he heard the tower start to peel 10 o'clock from the distant square. He swallowed hard and stared into the imp's eyes as Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward and whispered… "Well?"

…

***** WOW! I'm so thrilled at all the positive reactions to my take on B&B. Don't worry, plenty more to come for them in the upcoming chapters. But we need to get Emma through her…um…shall we say mid-life crisis first? Quite a lot in store for her, and very soon. Working steadily on the next chapters as we speak.**

**Thanks as usual to all the great responses and views (I've never hit 300 before! You helped me break a personal record!)**

**Stay tuned for more of James, Emma, Henry, Snow, Sean, Ella, Belle, Adam…and a few new surprises. Happy Writing/Reading/Living!*****


	16. The Council of Rogues

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**The Council of Rogues**

****WARNING FOR THE FAINT OF HEART…So…yeah, this chapter gets a bit…dark. (I mean just look at the title). So buckle your seatbelts…and remember it's always darkest before the dawn****

Arms tightly crossed in front of her, Emma continued to fume as Gold flipped over his 'open' sign and flashed her an infuriating grin. It was bad enough to have David interfere with what was turning out to be a promising lead, but to have Mr. Gold so clearly amused by the whole business was just about all she could take. She tried to peer through the wooden blinds but with most of the lights off, she had no idea what – if any – progress David might be making.

"He'll do it, you know." Henry's voice from the car startled her and she turned around.

"What?" she asked, regretting the bite in her tone.

"He'll do it. He'll get the name."

Emma closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, working hard to temper her frustration. "You think so, huh?"

Henry bit his lip, looking between his mom and the closed shop door. He couldn't be sure (he _was _only 10), but he didn't think he'd ever been caught in the middle of something so complex. Emma knew what Henry _believed_ about 'David Nolan' but had no idea what _'David' _knew and that _Henry _knew _what_ heknew and – ugh, just thinking about it gave him a headache! "Well," he struggled, sorting out what he could and _should _say. "He _is _Prince Charming."

It was too late and she was too tired to mask her reaction, so Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Henry—"

"Well he _is_!" Henry insisted. "Maybe he's…I dunno…remembering or something." He was taking a big risk, he knew. Pops had been right that revealing too much too fast to her would backfire. Still, he wasn't about to just let her stand there doubting him if he could _do _something about it (Besides, he could get away with pretending that 'David might be remembering.' He'd claimed as much for real when James first woke up).

"Remembering," she glanced down at him, cocking an eyebrow. "That he's Prince Charming."

"Or at least…" he fumbled for a bit. Jeez this was hard! "I don't know…_sensing _that he needed to…to help you?"

"Look, Kid—"

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" Henry cried suddenly, straightening up in the back seat so that he balanced on his knees and was now leaning halfway out of the window. His remark so startled her that she had no reply. "I mean, you _saw _the compass in the book tonight. You _saw _how much Ava looks like Gretel."

"I know but—"

"If I'm right about _them_, I'm right about _him_," he insisted, pointing toward the door of the shop. "I mean, come on, Emma. Why _else _would he be here?"

Nervously, Emma shoved her hands in her pockets, and as she studied the boy's anxious features, she realized she had no answer. After all, it was the same question she'd been asking herself all night. The kid just had guts enough to say it out loud.

…

James gave Gold one last glance as he placed his hands on the door. The old magician nodded, picked up his cane and disappeared through the back stock room, flicking off the one tiffany lamp as he left. The pawn shop was pitch black and Gold's collection of assorted artifacts from their old world cast ominous shadows in the moonlight over James's face. He sighed, pushed open the door and headed into the wintery night air.

Emma, as he expected, was leaning against the driver's side door with one leg crossed over the other and her hands shoved in her pockets while Henry was still hanging out of the back seat, his little hands curled over the edge of the open window pane. His daughter was glaring at him, and this too he'd expected. For although he knew he had acted in her best interests, there was simply no way at this time to explain just how dangerous that little man was, nor why 'David Nolan' felt it necessary to barge in on a woman who was clearly capable of taking care of herself. As far as Emma was concerned, this was just another case of 'David' sticking his nose in her business…where he didn't belong.

"Well?" she snapped, glowering at him. "Did you get it?"

James took a deep breath and reached in his back pocket for his wallet. He shot Henry a quick glance and then looked up. "His name is Tillman."

Emma bolted off the car door. "Tillman?" she asked hurriedly, and James tried not to let the surprise in her voice bother him. She really hadn't believed that he'd come through for her.

"Uh huh, Michael Tillman," he nodded, flipping open his wallet.

"Did you get an address?" she said impatiently.

"Didn't have to," he answered as he withdrew something from the wallet and flipped it out to her.

She cocked an eyebrow and took it from him. "A business card?"

"I met him this morning," James said, glancing down at Henry who had perked up the instant James had revealed his success.

"You _know_ him?" Henry asked excitedly.

James nodded and looked back to Emma. "He does all the towing for Marco's garage. As soon as Gold said the name, I remembered him from earlier today. He also does a lot of the snow plowing and leaf pickup for the town."

Emma stared wide-eyed at the card in her hand. Half of her couldn't believe that he'd actually done it. That he'd bargained with Gold for the information and had succeeded despite the fact that it wasn't even for _him_. The other half of her – the one she'd been trying to shut up all night – well that part wasn't a bit surprised. "Um…" she fumbled, tucking the card in her coat pocket. "Thank you."

Again, James nodded and then withdrew the compass from his pocket and held it out to Henry. Emma started at the trinket and shot him another look.

"He didn't keep it?"

James shrugged. "Didn't need it," he said. "Believe me…he got what he wanted."

Something in his tone made her shiver and, though she told herself she didn't really care, she couldn't help but ask, "What was his price?"

He stared at her thoughtfully, noticing for the first time that she wasn't glaring at him with looks of caution or distrust. There was compassion there. Concern. And a little bit of wonder. He'd seen hints of these in her eyes that afternoon at the castle. Dare he hope that he was somehow…some way…getting through? "Don't worry about it," he said, trying to mask the emotion in his voice. He certainly didn't want to burden her with the sum of favors he'd just given up to that man, but when he glanced down at his grandson's worried gaze, he knew the boy had probably already surmised that the price was…steep.

"More secrets David?" Emma asked, though it wasn't really a question.

"Not really," he said. "Just…nothing that was worth keeping a father from his kids."

Something squeezed Emma's heart tight as he said it, and though she knew he was talking about Ava and Nicolas…she couldn't shake the feeling that he was …that he might also be talking about…that he really could mean— but she shrugged it off, deciding to focus instead on the first half of his statement. "I thought you said _nothing _was worth _owing a favor_ to that man," she challenged.

"For you," he said, not missing a beat. "I could care less about me."

She gaped a little, oddly frustrated by the remark. After all, who was _he _to…what…_protect _her like that? _He's your father... _To take on that kind of responsibility? _I found your father…_To claim that right? _Your father…he's in the hospital…_She opened her mouth to object, but Henry broke through the tension.

"So you comin' with us Mr. Nolan?"

James looked down. "Comin' where?"

"To talk to Mr. Tillman!" Henry said, exasperated. "If you know him, maybe you can help convince him 'bout his kids."

James glanced up at Emma who was eyeing him warily again. With a sigh, he straightened up and answered his grandson, though he kept his eyes locked with his daughter's. "I don't think so, Henry." Then, adding quietly, "You better get going…hope it all works out." And without requiring her to respond, he turned back to his own car.

Thankful for the reprieve, Emma immediately wrenched open the door and slipped in behind the wheel, jamming her keys in the squad car and powering up the GPS on the dashboard. Her fingers, nearly frozen, groped for the business card in her pocket, and when she withdrew it again, she remembered something else. "Hey!" she called out to David, rolling down the window. "You told me that thing was for your wife!" she called out to him.

He turned around as he reached his car. "Yeah?"

"But you told Gold it was for your _cousin._"

"Like I said," he replied, opening his car door, "I'd never lie to you."

"But you'd lie to Gold?"

He glanced back at the door and to her surprise, he actually smirked. "You _wouldn't_?"

They stared at each other a bit longer, Emma feeling that same hypnotic pull as before, and then, finally, he got in his car and sped away.

…

It had been quite some time since Regina had had to call a meeting of this magnitude. But something was definitely amiss in Storybrooke, and the usual contingencies in place for dealing with breaches in the fabric of the curse were clearly not working as they should. It was time to figure out _why_.

So while it was risky to gather the entire council, Regina also felt that it would be fatal if they continued on much longer _without_ meeting. Therefore, one by one, and paced to avoid the appearance of a confab, dark sedans began arriving on the square, some parking along the street, some at restaurants, others in the lot behind City Hall. And though they'd had no cause to gather on this scale in almost 30 years, they each entered the Bastion beneath the clocktower stairwell as if they'd done so weekly for the entire duration of the curse.

Having arrived shortly after her meeting with John (confident at least in _his _ability to prevent the orphan situation from progressing any further), Regina stood poised at the entrance of the Bastion, welcoming her guests. Each greeted her with a degree of civility owed to her for having provided them with such prosperous and satisfying lives, but their participation in the curse and ability to exist _outside _of its spells and deceptions hardly elevated the status of their relationships to that of friendship or confidant. Madame Ursula was every bit the sour, gluttonous old harpy she'd been in her realm; J.S. Hook brushed past her with no more than a nod, and the only thing she had in common with Lady Tremaine was that they both happened to be nefarious step mothers. When nearly all were accounted for, hoods were removed, heads were revealed, and each took his or her rightful place in the Bastion's assembly room.

Once an iron fortress designed to ward off armies of magical foes, the Bastion was now an underground labyrinth, with much of its original rooms preserved. In its entirety it spanned a good deal of the land beneath the square; in fact, the structure reached as far as the cemetery where her most…_prized_ treasures were stored. This room, octagonal in shape, and lit by over twenty orb-shaped sconces along the wall, had at its center an ornate, cherry-wood table around which stood ten iron-backed chairs. Suspended from the ceiling was a chandelier of cascading rock crystals lit seemingly from within, each stone emitting a pale blue glow. In the early days of the curse, the light emanating from above cast a hazy glow on the tabletop itself, while leaving the rogues themselves in shadow.

The Council of Rogues, as they had been aptly named by John several decades ago (having never bothered to come up with anything less flamboyant), consisted entirely of persons responsible for maintaining the curse. Storybrooke was too large a town and the curse too complex a spell to enact by her magic alone, and though there were some among them who were not expressly magical, each possessed the perfect combination of villainy and tenacity required to keep his or her domain of the town under control. The blackness in their souls intensified the curse, and the treachery and deceit of which they were all capable had – until now – functioned flawlessly. The looks on their faces, however, as the meeting commenced, proved to Regina that this was no longer the case…for any of them.

"What on _earth _is going _on_ Regina?" snarled Hook as he dug his hideously outdated prosthetic into the grooves of the table. "John tells me you have him on yet another errand?"

"He is securing you two more orphans as we speak, Captain. I assumed you'd be pleased."

But Hook was _far _from pleased. "May I remind you that we have had our _hands_ full since time resumed? I can't maintain order in the home with my assistant constantly doing your scutwork."

"I would hardly call a few errands in West End scutwork," Regina eyed him contemptuously. "And may I remind you that he's not your_ assistant_?"

"He's hardly—"

"Oh come off it, _Hookie,_" came Ursula's deep, droll voice. And even with the curse having drastically improved her once grotesque appearance, Regina could clearly imagine the tentacles that would have once twisted and framed her face as she baited the captain. "You've just got your panties in a twist because the clo-_ck_…is ti-_ck_ing again," she sneered with an exaggerated click of her tongue.

Hook scraped and scratched against the grain while others shared in the jeer before Regina slammed her fist down on the table and glowered. "Enough!" she bellowed. "Yes, Captain, as I'm sure we are _all_ aware by now, the clock in the tower has resumed and certain things in town are…changing."

"Indeed," Lady Tremaine replied, her tone the essence of hauteur. "According to my daughters, Cinderella has _moved in _with her prince. And they're raising her baby…_together_." She spat out the word as if it disgusted her.

"Yes, Rodmilla," Regina confirmed. "And I learned tonight they are planning to get married."

_This_ word drew a gasp from _every_ dark soul at the table. "_Married_?" spluttered Gunlief, the only surviving troll of his clan with whom Regina had bargained in the early stages of the curse for information on Prince James. His appearance, like Ursula's, had too been altered, and for good reason; for in town, Gunlief masqueraded as Mr. Bridgeport, head of the Storybrooke Emporium. "Ain't dat kid's father been deterring 'em?"

"Yes," was Regina's impatient reply. "And Thomas has been listening to him…until _now_. This is precisely the point. We are here to discuss other changes you all have observed and to implement plans to repair the damage to the curse before it is permanently—"

"And exactly how are _we _to do that?" Ursula scoffed. "_Our _magic is tied up in the curse. And _sommmme_ of us never had much of it to begin with." This last dig was aimed directly at Hook who kicked his chair back from the table before Gunlief reached up and slammed him back down.

"The same way as we've always done, Ursula. Carefully planned manipulation." She turned and addressed the rest of the group. "That's why we need to know exactly what threats you've observed. 'Sean' and 'Ashley's' wedding of course must be stopped, but I have also seen signs that the huntsman is awakening—"

"Not to mention Prince _Charming_," Gunlief scowled, clenching his fists at the memory of the prince and princess having killed his brothers. "You told us 'e would _never _awake frum dat coma!"

"_Clearly_ I was mistaken," she muttered through gritted teeth, deeply regretting having lost the ability to summon the elements at will and silence all complaints with a well-placed bolt of lightning. "Now…what else?"

Hook was about to elaborate on the most recent breach at the children's home when the heavy iron doors burst open and a tall, severe figure sailed into the room. Regina rose immediately, noting the man whose sterile white lab coat was a stark contrast to the various shades of gray among the rest of the rogues. "Jafar," she said, gesturing for his chair. "We were just getting started—"

"He's _seen _her!" Jafar cut her off, gliding right up to the table, towering over the collective. He curled his long fingers over the back of the chair and dug his nails into its decorative iron frame.

"_Who_?" asked Ursula.

"Seen wha'?" added Gunlief.

But Jafar simply glowered at the queen, and in seconds, his meaning was clear. Only one patient of Storybrooke General's Head of Psychiatry could have incited such alarm: the only royal in all the realms with a magical vaccine against dark curses – and arguably…the most dangerous. "Adam," she seethed, turning toward a slender woman who, so far, had been silent. "Have you _ever _been able to discern a way around his immunities?"

The woman leaned forward, delicately removing her cloak before folding her hands atop the table. As she leaned into the small bit of light shining down from the hanging crystal, the men seated at the table could not help but catch their breath as they beheld her terrifying beauty. Her dark hair tumbled from the hood of her cloak and spilled about her shoulders as the scent of rose petals assailed the room. "To this day, he is the _only_ one of my creatures to have ever reversed the transformation," she said, and though her voice was sweeter than a siren's song, the resentment behind her words was keenly felt. "And if he has indeed _seen _his Beauty, I doubt his love will ever again be masked or suppressed."

"The drugs have been working, Circe," Jafar boasted, overcoming the faerie's allure to defend his work.

"The alchemy of _this_ world only suppresses his consciousness," she said in a still soothing voice (that was beginning to get on Regina's nerves). "Drugs have kept him dormant, but with the curse weakening, I fear they will soon have little to no effect."

"Why kant we jus' kill 'im?" Gunlief thumped his hand against the table to the chagrin of all involved.

"We _tried_ that twenty-eight years ago, you half wit!" Ursula groaned, punctuating her _t_'s with extra zeal.

"Adam is completely immune to dark magic now, remember?" Regina said impatiently. "The perks of having overcome one of Circe's spells." She threw an accusatory glance in the faerie's direction which Circe chose to ignore. "He cannot die as the result of _any_ dark curse or enchantment, and that _includes_ direct and deliberate action by any one of us who enacted it." She shuddered, remembering the first few days of the curse when its limits were revealed. Had she arranged it so that Rumpelstiltskin shared in its enactment, _he _might have found a way around this loophole, but Regina trusted _him _less than the all the rascals seated here – combined. So the council had had quite a time of it at first, discovering not only Adam's unforeseen resistance to dark magic but of those from Never Land as well. At first, the boys had behaved the same as all Storybrooke children: oblivious and malleable. But having spent decades under the influence of fairy dust, they were often caught asking the _wrong _kinds of questions and eventually adulterating the rest of the population with their unending curiosity about their pasts. A more permanent solution had been erected for them at the southern edge of the forest, and Hook and John had done a splendid job keeping them reformed. But Regina had a feeling, with so many things unraveling, that the weakening of the curse was wreaking more havoc at the boys' home than John had been letting on.

"We'll just have to keep him subdued," Jafar huffed ruefully, returning Regina's immediate attention to the problem with Belle's impenetrable prince.

"Are you deaf?" Hook rebuked, "She _just _said the drugs won't be effective much longer. Not now that he's _seen _her!"

"Quiet!" hissed Lady Tremaine. She turned to Regina. "What about that oafish brute who used to harass the girl? The one we almost brought into the fold?"

"The _bartender_?" Ursula scoffed.

Regina looked to Rodmilla. "What about him?"

"Well he's _not _one of us. He's a victim of the curse just like the rest. If the two of them found themselves in some _unfortunate _kind of…tiff," she grinned as the idea took shape, "the curse wouldn't prevent _him _from following through. And the entire West End knows of his violent temper."

The queen's lips curled into a sinful smile. "Well…" she said, slipping into her chair as she pondered the deliciously wicked potential of Tremaine's suggestion. "Perhaps he can be persuaded to…do us a favor."

But Jafar was unconvinced. "Hot-headed bully is a far cry from cold-blooded killer. My sources say _he _has genuine _feelings _for the girl. It's why we ultimately decided not to include him in the first place. And even so, just how do you intend to engineer such a slaying with my nurses monitoring the floor by the hour?"

"Well there are _apparently_ enough gaps in your rounds to have allowed Belle through in the first place aren't there!" Regina snapped. "I'm sure something could be worked out."

The royal vizier narrowed his gaze, and he too finally took his seat at the table. "I wonder that you can _be_ so _sure_ when, from what I hear, your own _son _has become a liability."

The accusation erupted into another series of murmurs as attention shifted to Regina's steely gaze. "You leave Henry out of this," she warned.

"How can we, Regina?" remarked the former sea witch. "It's all over town that the brat's been prancing about, telling people they aren't who they _think _they are!"

"I will not stand for—"

"Yes and what of the sheriff's new deputy? Her birth mother, I understand?" chimed in Circe's annoyingly sweet voice. "How and why has she been allowed to stay?"

"Silence!" Regina bellowed and all assembled seemed to remember at once just how dangerous the evil queen could be. "As you are _all_ aware, _this _world has rules. And in order for our curse to continue to function properly, _Storybrooke _must adhere to those rules. Henry's adoption was a _legal_ transaction, validated by the state of Maine. If I send that…blonde…_twit_ away with _any _just cause for challenging custody, I will officially turn the government's eye on our quiet little hamlet now, won't I?"

"Then just _kill _the 'twit' and put the little whelp with the rest of the urchins who ask too many questions," challenged Hook, whose latter request clearly demonstrated how much the old Captain was itching for some fresh meat in his orphanage.

"Oh that's _brilliant_ Captain," Ursula sneered. "_Kill _the brand new deputy. What a fantastic way to avoid generating suspicion or putting our little lemmings on alert!"

"Precisely," Regina agreed. "Look," she took a deep breath, willing herself to maintain an even keel amidst her fellow foes. "There are clearly problems that need resolving. But that's why we're here. Now," she nodded to group, tacitly acknowledging that she understood their concerns. "We have a wedding to stop and a prince to dispose of—"

"And a kid to silence," added Hook with a malevolent glare.

"You worry about the rest of the children, Captain," she snapped, her voice punctuated by a sense of finality. "And leave Henry to me."

…

"Not possible," Michael shook his head, practically shoving the picture back in Emma's hands. Emma fumbled it, careful not to drop it, and glanced down sadly at Henry.

"Mr. Tillman—" she followed him through to his small kitchen.

"No look," he said, lowering his voice so as not to be heard by the mayor's kid. "Dorrie, she wasn't my…we weren't…" he sighed, barely able to even remember Dorrie Zimmer's face. "It was just once."

"Sometimes that's all it takes," she said softly.

"I met her when I was camping and…we uh…No," Michael said, withdrawing a glass from his cupboard and filling it with water at the sink. Absently, he wished he were filling it for himself rather than for the boy swinging his legs back and forth patiently on his couch. The lump in the workman's throat was the size of a golf ball, and though there was no logical reason to doubt the new deputy's assertion that he had _two _kids about to be sent into the foster system, he was nowhere close to feeling like the father she clearly expected him to be. "It's not possible. I don't have _twins_." He turned from her, returning to the living room where he clumsily handed Henry the drink.

"Thanks," the kid said softly, then glanced up at Emma, giving her a supportive nod.

Emma started at her son's expression…Mary Margaret had given her the exact same look a few hours ago. "Yes…you do," she insisted, turning back toward Michael and looping her thumbs through her back belt loops, planting herself in front of him. "You have _twins _who have been _homeless _since their mother passed away." He crossed his arms, shaking his head but unable to keep from listening. "You have twins who have been living in an abandoned house because they don't want to be separated from each other…And twins who are about to be shipped off to _Boston_ unless you step up and take responsibility for them."

"Look," he said, nervously glancing between the two of them. "I can barely manage my own life. I can't manage two kids. And anyway, why are you so sure they're mine?"

His voice was pleading, and despite her impatience, Emma found some unexpected sympathy for him. After all, in one moment, she'd irrevocably altered this man's entire life. "Besides the timing?" she answered and then nodded to Henry.

Taking the cue like a pro, Henry set the water glass down on the small end table and withdrew the compass from his pocket. "Know what this is?" he asked, as he stood and held it out to him.

At first glance, Michael didn't truly register the trinket and with the soft glow of the lamp light had to step closer to the boy before he saw it and gasped. "I lost this," he whispered as Henry placed it gently in his hands.

"Lemme guess –12 years and 9 months ago," the deputy's voice murmured behind him as he continued to reacquaint himself with the compass. His compass. The one his father had left him when he was a boy. He remembered now. He'd been camping alone when Dorrie came across his tent. She was lost, and in the course of the night, he'd shown it to her as kind of a token of faith…faith that he could help her. Faith that she…wasn't at _all_ lost…She was found.

Emma cautiously circled around him and stood by her son, placing her hand on his shoulder as she watched Michael work through it in his head. For a moment, she thought she saw something shift in his eyes…a glimmer that hadn't been there before. But it was gone.

"I know it's a lot. _Believe_ me I know," she offered. He looked up as she stepped further behind Henry, bringing both hands to his shoulders. "A month ago…this guy," she glanced down and grinned at him before continuing, "showed up on my doorstep asking for help with…something." Henry grinned up at her. "And I ended up moving here…for _him._"

Seeing the two together, Michael couldn't help but notice the resemblance. And something hitched in his throat as he noted the look of absolute adoration the boy had for his mother. But still, he shook his head. "Look, no offense," he nodded to Henry and then looked back up at Emma. "But staying in town is a _lot_ different than taking him in."

Emma squeezed Henry's shoulders before stepping back out from behind him. "I don't have my kid…cuz I don't have a _choice._ You do."

Henry's eyes shot up and his jaw dropped. It was the first time Emma had ever openly implied that she would be _willing _to actually take him in. "Please Mr. Tillman," he turned toward Ava's father, jumping into the conversation if only to keep himself from tearing up. "They _want _to know you. To be a family."

Michael again beheld the boy whose affection for his mother was unmistakable. Still, from what he had heard, the kid had it pretty rough having been adopted by Mayor Mills. According to the rumors, she'd had him in therapy since he was 7. He supposed _any _alternative to that was appealing. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I really am. But I don't know anything about being a dad."

Emma was about to respond, but Henry got there first. "You'll learn!" he exclaimed. "Emma didn't have a clue either, trust me!" He said it so ingenuously that both Emma _and _Michael had to chuckle. "But you're their _dad_. They _already _love you. They just…haven't met you."

Michael looked back at the compass in his hands as Emma stared down at her boy in complete awe. How the hell had he gotten so smart? Tentatively, she looked back up at Michael and gasped. Henry was getting through.

"They're uh…they're bein' taken to Boston?" he choked a little, still turning the compass over and over in his hands.

"Tomorrow morning," she nodded sadly. "But…they don't have to be."

An image flashed before Michael's eyes. A vision so clear it was gut wrenching: a police car pulling up to a stale, run-down, inner-city orphanage. Two kids in the back seat. His kids. About to be split apart. With a deep breath, and an ache in his heart where there once had been a hole, he gave them a nod. "No," he said, "…they don't."

…

By the time Deputy Swan and Henry Mills left his house, Michael's stomach was doing summer saults. In about an hour, Emma was going to return with his kids. His twins. Ava and Nicolas. What had he been thinking? Who was he kidding? His house had _one_ bedroom, almost _zero_ storage space, and he didn't know the first thing about pediatricians or enforcing rules or setting bedtimes. Half of him felt like calling the station and saying: _Forget it! I'll screw it up!_ But of course, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He'd already committed, and his children were counting on him. And as frightened as that made him, he couldn't help noticing how incredibly…_warm _he felt, knowing someone out there needed him.

Someone was depending on him for more than just plowing a driveway or towing a car.

Ava and Nicolas.

_They already love you_

…_they just haven't met you_.

Hastily, he went to the front window and pulled back the curtain, watching as Emma backed her car out of the driveway and glanced toward his house. She caught his gaze and looked at him cautiously – almost worried. But he gave her a firm nod and smiled, determined that she know that the faith she had in him wasn't misplaced.

There was much to do, and already he started mentally preparing a list of things he supposed he'd have to buy. Emma had mentioned that she'd be dropping Henry off at his house before she returned to Miss Blanchard's to retrieve the children. That gave him a little less than an hour now before he met them. He watched as the car disappeared down his street and then he turned to grab his keys and coat. He had just enough time to get to the store and get some basics – sheets, pillows, cereal maybe? What did they eat for breakfast? He should have asked. He couldn't very well just give 'em coffee in the morning and—

"Hello Michael!" a sly, slippery voice suddenly cooed right up against his ear, and he cursed aloud, leaping backwards into the living room.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!" he shouted, stumbling back, his legs crashing against the couch as he got a better look at his intruder: He was a tall, lanky man, youthful in appearance, though his face was sharp and severe; a pinstriped fedora covered most of his jet black hair, and from his pocket dangled a chain and time piece he was currently examining as if he were waiting for a train. His other hand…was hidden behind his back.

"Such foul language," the man tsked, shaking his head as he snapped shut the pocket watch and returned it to his waistcoat. Everything about the man suggested he had just come from some sort of ridiculous costume party. "Is that befitting of a man who just found out he's the father of two such…impressionable youths?"

"Hey!" Michael bellowed, startled by the instant hatred that engulfed him for this man – this man who implicitly threatened children he'd not even met yet. "I asked you a question! Who _are _you? And how did you get in here?"

"Ah! But is that not _two _questions?" With almost boyish giddiness, he hopped forward. "To the first, I shall answer John. _Honest_ John to be precise, for where _you're_ going there's no cause to be _im_precise. As for the second," he hopped forward again, closing the gap between them. "Well, a man of my talents…may pick any lock."

Michael sprang to the offensive, fear and adrenaline colliding as he threw a punch and tried to sidestep his opponent. But John was too spry, too quick, and skirted out of the way. With a strength that didn't seem possible given his lean stance, John's hand came crashing down like a blade at Michael's neck, and the blow sent him tumbling to the floor.

Pain throbbed up and down his neck and spine as he struggled to push himself up on his hands and knees. But John had already crouched down beside him, and Michael barely had time to react before he felt something sharp pierce his jugular. In agony, he cried out and reached behind his head, angling his face toward his assailant who slowly emptied the contents of a syringe into his neck before yanking the needle out.

"Don't worry Mr. Tillman," said John, rising from his victim. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and began polishing off his hands as if he'd run across a little dust. Michael collapsed at John's feet, the effects of the drug almost instantaneous. Feeling himself grow drowsy, he twisted around, slow and lethargic on the floor, and got one last look at John's face. "We'll take _good_ care of your children," he heard him say, before the world went black.

…

***** So remember last chapter when I warned you of a few "new surprises?" Yeah, I didn't know how right I was. Ok, here's the deal: the villains totally took over this chapter. They came into my office, chained me to my laptop and forced me to reveal some underlying truths about their…well villainy. These are truths of which you need to be aware if you are to continue on this journey with me. But I **_**promise **_**I will not go another chapter without another reunion for James and Snow. **

**Don't worry too much about Michael (no he's not dead). If you worry about anyone, worry about Emma. I can't imagine how she's going to react when she returns to Michael's house with his kids and he's gone. Can you?**

**For those who are curious, Circe is a character inspired by a Greek goddess of the same name who, in Homer's **_**Odyssey **_**was described as having transformed her foes into wild animals. In various adaptations or versions of her story, she has also been termed a witch or evil faerie. In "Toll Bridge" I have borrowed her likeness and imagined her as the Enchantress who originally cursed Adam. While in the movie, she is never depicted as having been evil, I've always thought it was a little extreme of her to have punished a spoiled 11-year old kid for essentially being a brat. (And come on…be honest – would any of you invite an old hag into **_**your **_**home for a rose?) So for the purposes of "Toll Bridge", understand that Beast's Enchantress…was and IS…evil.**

**Stay tuned and thanks for reading!*****


	17. Losing Faith

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**NOTE: So I think I'm going to stop promising things that are coming because these characters keep changing their minds and deciding otherwise. Believe me, James and Snow will keep their Sunday night rendezvous. I even hope to have it done before the next episode. But bear with me a little while longer. In the meantime, enjoy the following:**

**Losing Faith**

Cooking was a chore Snow _had_ actually gotten very good at (despite her humble protests at Ella's) when she'd kept house for the dwarfs, but it wasn't something she'd had to do often since she and her seven brethren spent many evenings dining at town festivals, gallivanting with the villagers, or taking supper with Red. So over time, it became something she did when she was nervous or antsy; it was nearly midnight by the time the timer dinged on the stovetop and Snow removed the tray of brownies she'd started from the oven. It was far too exciting a night to go to sleep, and she was simply bursting with anticipation, waiting for her Emma to come home and tell her all about the Zimmer children's meeting their father.

Her mood _now_ of course was far improved from what it had been; Snow was simply sick with worry over the fate of almost every member of her family, and had spent much of the evening pacing her small house, trying not to let the Zimmers see how concerned she was. She'd fully intended to trust Emma in handling everything at the shop, but when she'd come back in and asked Henry to come _with _her – to Mr. _Gold's_– Snow hadn't been able to help herself in calling James. She'd have gone herself if she hadn't been watching Ava and Nicolas. But Rumpelstiltskin was not a man to be trusted. And though she knew Emma herself was wary of the pawn broker, Snow knew her daughter couldn't possibly understand how much danger she was really in.

So when her daughter had breezed through the door an hour ago, reporting that 'David Nolan' of all people had helped her get the information she'd needed to find the elusive plowman, it was with complete and utter relief that she watched Emma gather up the children and prepare them to become part of a new family. And though her body was exhausted having spent most of the day with Belle, her mind was simply abuzz with excitement. Emma was, at this moment, reuniting Hansel and Gretel with their long lost father: Children who – if Snow was remembering the story correctly – the queen had perversely enjoyed separating from each other. Their reunion was sure to further put a dent the curse, and maybe – just maybe – continue to open Emma's mind to the reality that…she_ also_ had parents very eager to claim her again.

Humming to herself while she worked, as was her oldest habit, she took a spatula to the pan and started lifting light, fluffy chocolate brownies onto a serving plate when she saw the faint glow of headlights shine through the side window and heard the slamming of a car door outside. She's home, Snow thought gleefully and started to move toward the door when it swung open with a crash and in walked her daughter…with the Zimmer kids racing in behind her.

"Hey—" Snow started to say and then barely skirted out of the way as Ava stormed up the bedroom stairs with Nicolas following close behind. They flew by so quickly, that she barely glimpsed either of them, but even at a glance, she could tell they'd been crying. Ava's face was red and swollen with tears and Nicolas looked almost nauseous. Her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach, Snow almost didn't want to turn back to face her daughter whose seething anger she could feel from across the room. When she finally did turn, she couldn't keep from gasping. For the look on her sweet girl's face was beyond furious…the kind of look that went beyond flushed cheeks and clenched fists. No, this was something different. Something more. And Snow swallowed hard as she realized, finally, the only other time she'd seen that look: in her own mirrored image – that awful night she'd fallen victim to Rumpelstiltskin's potion – a potion that had stripped her of almost every human feeling…save for vengeance.

"What…happened?" Snow gulped, approaching her cautiously, for Emma had yet to look her in the eye.

Emma stood frozen in the doorway, her hand gripping the doorknob so hard, Snow felt sure she'd snap it right off. In her other hand was a small sheet of paper, clutched so tightly it was practically disintegrating in her fist. With what looked to be a tremendous amount of effort, Emma slowly turned her head and at last made eye contact – her eyes dim and grave. "He left," she rasped. Robotically, she raised her arm and handed Snow the note.

Snow took it and held it up to the lamp just inside the door. It looked to be a bit of company stationary. In the top left hand corner was a small logo: a yellow tire-shaped ring with a green pick-up truck driving through it. Underneath it was typed "Tillman Trucking" and a phone number. Snow scanned down the page, smoothing out the wrinkles so she could read the light pen markings scrawled across the sheet:

_**Dear kids,**_

_**I know the deputy promised you a father, but trust me when I tell you I'm not it. I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't listen. I'm sorry it has to be this way. I know she's on her way to pick you up right now. **__**But I'm just -**__**I'm not-**__**You don't want me as your dad, ok? Trust me, you're better off in a place with people who can actually take care of you. **_

_**I'm sorry.**_

_**Someday, I hope you'll understand.**_

_**-Michael**_

With every word, Snow's stomach twisted into tighter and tighter knots. To have written something to his children so rushed, so callous and impersonal was bad enough. But for Emma to have brought the children into that house expecting to find a family…and instead finding this…

Her heart breaking for them all, she crushed the paper to her side and glanced up at her daughter. "Oh, Emma," she whispered.

"Their…" she mumbled, still staring straight ahead in shock. "Their faces."

"Emma—" Snow reached out to her daughter, but Emma snatched her arm away.

"Don't!" Emma snapped and finally, she looked to Mary Margaret whose face was pale as a ghost. On some level, she registered and regretted Mary's surprise, but she did not apologize. "Just…don't."

Snow looked nervously between Emma and the staircase where the children had disappeared. Already sounds of muffled crying could be heard. "Where…" she fumbled, swallowing down the lump in her throat as Emma finally closed the door behind her and moved passed her into the room. "Where do you think he is?"

The shock on Emma's face shifted to disdain as she whipped her head around and stared at her roommate. "_Where_ he is?" she snapped. "Didn't you hear me? He's _gone_. Skipped town! Out of Storybrooke."

Snow reeled back. "Skipped town?" she cried. "But that's not—that's not possible!"

"Oh, I beg to differ," Emma laughed bitterly which sent chills up Snow's spine. "It's _completely _possible. _Typical_ in fact."

"No—Emma I—"

"Typical!" she continued, snatching the note from Mary Margaret's hands and crumpling it up. "I can't _believe_ I didn't see it coming!" In a fury, she tossed the note aside and ran her fingers up through her hair, fisting clumps of blonde locks in her hands. "He said _exactly_ what I wanted to hear and then…then…" she shook her head, trying desperately to block out the image of Ava and Nicolas, listening as she'd read the note, their faces absolutely crushed and soaked through with tears. "How could I have been that foolish? That _gullible_?"

"Emma," Snow tried again, alarmed now for a whole different set of reasons. "There's gotta be an explanation—"

Again, Emma whirled on her with contempt. "Are you not listening? I _gave _you the explanation. He even sent off an email to Marco telling 'im to find someone else to do all the towing. Something 'came up'," she shuddered with air quotes, "and he had to leave Storybrooke."

Snow shook her head. "But that doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Emma countered, throwing her arms up in the air and then plunging her hand into her pocket to withdraw the compass. "It's a _father_ running out on his kids," she spat, staring down at the trinket. "Makes a hell of a lot more sense than…than _this_ crap." Unable to stop herself, she hurled the compass across the room and sent it crashing into the wall, the glass covering cracking as it fell to the floor with a thud.

"Emma!" she cried, having just barely ducked out of the way.

"I _brought _them there!" she cried, her voice suddenly pleading, helpless, begging for Mary Margaret to understand just how devastating the night had been. "I _told_ them they were going to meet their father and…and…" at last the numbing rage in her face seemed to break as tears started to fall and anger was replaced by pain. Unable to finish, she simply collapsed to the couch, holding her face in her palms and shaking her head. "How could I have missed it?" she whispered, more to herself than to Mary Margaret.

Snow stood quite inert, at a loss for what she could say or do. The timing couldn't be worse. Just when her daughter was starting to show signs that she might believe – believe in good things, happy endings, family – this ordeal ripped her apart, sending her crashing back to her reality, to a world that had never once been kind. It was enough to make a woman weep and her heart bleed, and yet at the same time, Snow also couldn't shake the feeling that something…wasn't quite right. She knew her daughter well enough now to know that Emma _did_ in fact have a penchant for reading people. With the happiness of two orphans hanging in the balance, two kids with whom she so clearly identified, she wouldn't have brought the children to Michael Tillman's house if she hadn't been absolutely sure of his intentions. And more still…_no one_ left Storybrooke. So either way…Michael Tillman was in trouble.

"Emma," she took a deep breath, practically tip-toeing over to the couch where her daughter still sat, her head cradled in her hands. "I know things are…pretty bleak right now. But you don't—I mean…you…you can't—"

"Oh, stop ok?" Emma groaned, looking up as she slid her hands off her face. "Just…stop."

Snow held back. "Stop what?"

"Just stop…doing _that,_" she gestured up and down her form and waved dismissively. "The – the 'what-ifs'. The '_other explanations_'."

"I wasn't –"

"Look, brownies and cocoa aren't gonna make this go away Mary Margaret!" She was spewing venom, she knew, and the accusation tasted like bile on her lips, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "Maybe that's how things work in _your_ little world, but not this one."

"Emma!" Snow exclaimed, finding her voice and shifting to the defensive. "I would think you'd give me a little more credit than _that_," she crossed her arms, her voice stern and…well, motherly.

Emma noticed the shift too, for Mary Margaret's tone prickled at her spine, and she found herself straightening up in her seat, a little chastened. "I'm just saying—"

"_I'm _just saying that there might be more going on here than we think." Snow stood her ground, for suddenly this argument didn't feel at all different from those she'd had with James about the queen or Rumpelstiltskin.

Emma sighed, squeezing her temples between her thumb and forefinger. "More going on?" she huffed impatiently. "That letter was pretty clear, Mary," she said, pushing herself off the couch and rising once more. "And I combed through that house looking for _anything _suspicious. Believe me, I've already done the whole 'this can't be right' thing. His room is picked clean of clothes and valuables, his computer is missing a mouse and external drive which means he ditched the desktop but took all his files, the furnace is off, his truck is gone and the stuff that's left is—" she paused, closing her eyes and shivering at the thought of just how familiar she was with the ins and outs of skipping town. "Is stuff you never mind leaving behind."

The comment hung in the air between them like brick wall pulsing with tension and sadness. Hoping to break through that wall, Snow took a deep breath and tried one more time. "I can't imagine the…the pain you've gone through tonight. _All _of you," she nodded upwards toward the guest room where the kids were sobbing themselves to sleep. "But…Emma…" she whispered, thankful for the minor victory in Emma at least letting her rest a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Please don't give up." Emma looked out at her from beneath her brow, eyebrows creased in doubt. "Truly, we may still…have a chance."

Emma pulled back from her, staring incredulously. "At _what_?"

Snow ignored her resistance. "At bringing them together."

She rolled her eyes. "Mary Margaret—"

"_No one _leaves Storybrooke, Emma. We may still find him."

Emma actually had to blink several times to be sure of what her roommate had just suggested. "Are you—you're kidding me, right?"

The derision in her tone was unmistakable, and Snow's stomach churned again at how much her daughter had regressed to her former, hardened, cynical façade. "Well I mean…" she said, though she felt as if she were losing the battle. "Henry's right about _that _much. No one ever—"

"Oooook," Emma stood up and pushed passed her. "Let's get something straight here. I'm fine with the whole play along with Henry thing? But _this _is not a fairy tale." She advanced on her roommate, her voice simply seething. "What happened today? That's not some 'evil queen's' curse, ok? That's a father…doing what _fathers_ do best—abandon their kids!" And without waiting for the school teacher to reply, Emma swiped her keys off the table, spun on her heel, and walked back out into the cold.

...

"I don't understand," Ashley shifted little Alex in her arms and adjusted the wet nap on her shoulder as she called down the hallway. "Why would she even care?"

Thomas came out of the bedroom adjusting his belt and reached their small kitchen. "I'm not saying she _will _for sure. But come on, you know how tight she is with everyone in my father's circle." Thomas reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a generous car cup before turning toward his fiancée. "It's a regular _aristocracy_ that group."

Ashley frowned, patting Alex's back as the girl coughed up a bit of spittle. Sean's slandering of his father still bothered her, but she supposed she couldn't fault him for accuracy. Mr. Herman definitely thought of himself as a certain class…one that didn't include herself. "Ok, but I don't think that'll stop the mayor from issuing us a license. And either way, we'll _both_ have to be there to actually complete it. I'm just gonna make the _appointment_," she added with a small grin. "I'm sure I can handle _that _without you."

Thomas sighed and offered her a small smile in return, but his fears were not quelled. The queen's displeasure upon hearing of their engagement last night had been perfectly clear, and Ella's announcement this morning that she was going to stop by City Hall tomorrow on her way to Granny's and apply for a marriage license had sparked quite a bit of alarm in the young prince. He couldn't help but think that somehow Regina might use that as an opportunity to sow seeds of doubt in his young bride's mind about the wedding. From everything James told him about the queen, the marriage of two people, a celebration of _love,_ would pretty much be the worst thing for the curse. So much happiness all in one place was sure to be seen as a threat. But he couldn't very well communicate that to Ella. As far as 'Ashley' was concerned, Regina was simply mayor of Storybrooke.

"Or…maybe you think I _can't_?" she said softly. Her sobering tone startled him and he looked down at her affronted glare.

"Of _course _not," he recovered, mentally kicking himself. _Way to go Thomas_. He grazed the backs of his fingers along her cheek and brushed a blonde curl from her face before resting his hand on her shoulder. "You carried our baby to term and practically gave _birth_ in Deputy Swan's _car_! You can do _anything_."

Ashley studied him for a moment, rubbing Alex's back as she coughed and cooed. She really didn't understand Sean's hesitation over her intended errand, but the look on his face now certainly confirmed it wasn't from lack of faith in _her_. She narrowed her gaze, teasing him a little longer, and then smiled. She tip-toed up to him, their daughter squirming between them and whispered: "Then stop worrying."

The simple, feather-light touch of her lips against his cheek sent an electric thrill through his body. God, he loved this woman. It seemed inconceivable to him now that some version of him had shunned her – abandoned her. The thought of it filled him with rage toward the queen, but he tucked those feelings away, refusing to burden his bride with any further signs of them. She started to pull away, but he grasped her arm and pulled her back, gazing down and admiring her beauty with as much awe and ardor as he had that first night of the festival…only now their little girl was sandwiched between them. Thomas looked between the two, stroking his hand delicately over Alex's soft little head before leaning in and capturing Ella's mouth with a kiss. "Who's worrying?" he teased when he pulled away, grinning at the hazy, heated look in her eyes.

Shivering in delight, Ashley practically had to force herself away, reaching over their small counter for her bag. "Good. I'll see you tonight," she said as she hitched Alex up a little higher on her hip, grabbed the car carrier and headed out the door.

…

Snow wrapped her blue coat up tighter around her neck as she shivered against the early December morning. At either shoulder stood Ava and Nicolas Zimmer, also shivering though not at all inclined to budge toward the sheriff's car, parked outside Mary Margaret's home. Graham too was hesitant to move so the sad-looking party simply stood there, Graham leaning up against the driver's side and Snow tentatively squeezing Ava's shoulder – a gesture that was ignored and shrugged off immediately.

"Mary Margaret," Graham said dejectedly, a helpless shrug implied in his stance. "I'm sorry, we can't wait any longer."

Snow strained another look down the street, praying her daughter would turn the corner at any moment. Surely she'd want to at least say good-bye. Surely she wouldn't let them just…leave. But it was getting on ten o'clock and according to the harsh rules of this world, Graham had no other choice but to transport them to the homes in which they'd been legally placed. "Just a few more minutes?" she begged.

But the sheriff shook his head sadly. "You said that 10 minutes ago. I'm sorry. I don't think she's coming."

Anger flashed through her which she immediately tried to settle. After all, it would do no good to lash out with the children present. But she couldn't help raging against how incredibly helpless she felt right now. How utterly useless she'd turned out to be. She was almost 100% certain that Michael's disappearance and the children's placement had been, in some way or another, orchestrated by the queen. But she had no proof. Nothing to work with. She couldn't trust Graham – not with him back under the queen's spell. And Emma was no longer open to talk of the curse. She shuddered to think of what would happen to the party as they neared the border of Storybrooke. _No one ever leaves Storybrook_e – how many times had Henry said it? And yet, there was no stopping it. Nothing that wouldn't further threaten their safety in town or blow their cover.

Her heart throbbing, she glanced down at the two children who stood staring straight ahead, almost in a trance. They were hugging their bookbags so close to their hearts it looked as if they were trying to squeeze the air out of their lungs. And Snow couldn't blame them. As awful as the discovery of Michael's note had been for her own daughter, she couldn't imagine what it must feel like for _them_. Graham led the children away from the curb and waited patiently as they climbed into the back seat. Then he turned, nodded slightly to the benevolent school teacher, ducked into the driver's seat and sped away.

Snow stood watching until the car receded into nothing but a tiny dot on the horizon. _No one leaves Storybrooke_, she thought again, steeling herself against the onslaught of fury and frustration. Oh what would Henry say? And James? How were they ever to break the curse with—

She gasped when she at last turned toward the house…and saw Emma watching from the shadows beyond the garden. "Emma!" she cried, stalking over to the backyard, ignoring the chirping, flapping bluebirds who instantly perked their heads out of their houses as Snow approached. "Where have you _been_?" she asked. Emma's arms were wrapped around her stomach and she was staring in the direction where Graham had sped off. In her eyes Snow saw pain, confusion, and sorrow. But mostly, she saw regret. "They were waiting to say goodbye," said Snow, trying not to sound too reproachful.

"No they weren't," Emma said mechanically, still looking toward the horizon. "_You _were waiting for that."

Snow knew she shouldn't hold it against her that Emma came across so accusingly. But she couldn't help how the terse remark irked her somewhat. "Emma—"

"Trust me, Mary. Those kids are doing _exactly _what they have to do now to survive."

"And what is that?"

Emma sighed, finally took her eyes from the horizon and turned them on her roommate. "_Not _setting themselves up for disappointment."

Snow eyed her shrewdly. "You mean turning into _you_."

Emma stared at her without feeling. "Believe me, there are worse ways of coping." Without uncrossing her arms, she turned and headed for the house.

"No I don't think so," Snow called after her and followed her in. "In fact I'm pretty sure that's not _coping_ at all."

Emma rolled her eyes and tossed her jacket on the couch. "Mary Margaret—"

Snow swung the door shut and continued to follow her to the sitting room. "I mean it. Please—" she reached forward and grabbed Emma's shoulder. Finally, her daughter stopped and turned. "Just…listen." Emma pressed her lips together thinly but didn't object further. "I can't…" Snow closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. "I can't even _imagine_ how you must be feeling right now. And I know this is all hitting really close to home for you—" Emma jerked a bit, as if she wanted to pull away, but she maintained her ground. "But please don't let this undo…_everything_."

"Everything?" she shrugged impatiently.

"Yes," Snow implored, practically dragging Emma down by the arm and settling the two of them on the couch. In the back of her mind was a tiny voice wondering why she was even bothering. But it was _Emma_. She refused to give up. "Just think for a second where you were about 12 hours ago. Sitting right here with your son. Opening up to him. The…the _progress_ you were making with Henry—"

"Progress with _Henry_?" she scoffed. "Please tell me you're not still talking about that damn book."

"I'm not."

"Then what—"

"I'm talking about _faith_ Emma. I'm talking about _you_ finally daring to _believe_ in something. Something beyond what you can already see."

"Yeah and look how that turned out for Ava and Nicolas."

"Emma—"

"No, I'm serious," Emma sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders against the woman. "_That's_ the price of believing in fairy tales. Sooner or later, _reality_ comes back to bite you in the ass."

But Snow shook her head. "Not _always_. Think about Henry. Think about the compass—"

"_Jesus_, what is the _matter_ with you?" Emma sprang up from the couch, exasperated. "How can you have stood there on that street—watched Graham drive those kids away, and still be buying into this _crap_?"

"Believing in something isn't _crap_," Snow countered, rising to meet her challenge.

"Believing in _hope_ maybe, or-or _God_ or something. But _fairy tales_? Are you serious?"

Snow gulped. This was _not_ going well. And she couldn't very well answer honestly. If she came right out and said 'yes, the curse is real' that would surely destroy what was left of her daughter's trust. In her current grief, Emma was the _least_ likely person to believe in _anything_ right now, let alone a perceived work of fiction concocted by a ten-year-old boy. "Not…the _fairy tales _themselves—" she tried.

But Emma had had enough. She didn't come back to get lectured by an idealistic schoolteacher. "If _you _want to believe in some fantasy because it's easier than dealing with your _own _life, that's fine by me."

Snow gasped, struck speechless by such derision. But Emma wasn't finished.

"If it's easier for you to believe you're _Snow White_ so you and David feel better about…about whatever the hell it is that's going on between you two – and yeah, don't think I don't know about that! David didn't just _show _up at Gold's shop out of the _blue_—"

"Emma, I—"

"If that helps you sleep at night, be my guest!"

"You…you don't understand…" Snow spluttered, feeling as though she'd been punched in the stomach.

Emma briefly registered the hurt in Mary Margaret's face and was instantly shamed for it. But her temper was out of control, and she couldn't bring herself to apologize. "Don't I?" she stalked past her, snatching up her coat. Why in the world had she come back here? "Look, I get it, ok? Showing a little faith in Henry's book led us to Tillman. I can't ignore that. Hell, I can't really _explain _that. But that doesn't _prove_ anything beyond sheer coincidence." She turned back to Mary Margaret, expecting an argument, but her roommate had become sadly quiet. "Besides," Emma continued, trying to calm her voice, though it was close to breaking. "If I believe in any _more _than _that_, it would mean believing—" and she halted, almost surprised at how the subject crept up on her.

"Believing what?" Snow asked. Her daughter's venomous outburst had deflated her a bit, but she was keenly aware of Emma's sudden discomfort.

Emma sighed and shook her head. On the one hand, it wasn't even worth getting into. But looking up into her roommate's eyes, she felt strangely like Mary at least _deserved _to know. "You know who Henry thinks _you _are. But do you know who he thinks _I _am?"

Snow's pulse started racing. Of _course _she knew. "Who?" she whispered.

Emma huffed. "Well I'm the _savior_, of course," she said derisively. "The _daughter_…of Snow White and Prince Charming."

The pronouncement almost seemed to echo through the house…and the look on Mary Margaret's face was absolutely unreadable. In the end, it was perhaps her utter _lack _of reaction that wrenched Emma back on the offensive and hostile. "Snow White's _daughter_," she repeated again, laughing bitterly. "_Your_ long lost daughter, Mary Margaret. _That's_ who he thinks I am! And of course we _know _who he thinks Prince _Charming _is! I mean—" she laughed again, though her laughs were painful, pounding sharply against her chest. "Come on, have you ever heard anything so _ridiculous_?" She threw her hands up in the air and spun away, suddenly unable to even face her friend. "So yeah…I had a little faith before." She busied herself with shrugging on her jacket and fumbling for her keys. "Faith in something _completely_ absurd – and Ava and Nicolas paid the price."

"Emma," Snow whispered from behind her, though she stayed rooted by the couch, unable to budge.

Without even looking back, Emma could tell Mary Margaret's face was streaked with tears. The breaking in her voice was unmistakable. And though she knew what she spoke was the truth, she couldn't help but feel strangely guilty…as if she'd somehow insulted her roommate beyond repair.

"Look," Emma sighed, finally turning to her as she zipped her coat. "I know you don't want me to…'lose hope'…but you don't know what it's like." Her voice was pleading now, desperate suddenly that Mary Margaret understand her. "You don't know what it's like to live in a world where _hope_ constantly fails you. To _have_ a little faith…only to have it turn around…and tear families apart."

Snow looked down, wrapping her arms around her middle as she willed her tears to stop. She wanted to be strong. She _was _strong. But even from across the room, she could _feel _her daughter's heart breaking…and in its wake, Snow could barely breathe.

"What happened last night was no fairy tale," Emma said quietly, staring straight ahead of her now. "Those kids have to live the rest of their lives with the knowledge that…their…_parent_…doesn't want them." Without waiting for Mary to respond, Emma rushed to the door and pulled it open. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "There's just…there's no coming back from that." Unable to bear Mary Margaret's forgiving silence, she walked out the door and slowly shut it behind her.

…

Marco Collodi was hardly the type of Scrooge who would suggest that his new and part time hires work on a Sunday. In fact, he couldn't think of anything more unreasonable than requiring it of a new father and a recovering coma patient. So it was in total shock that Marco walked through the already unlocked doors of his shop to find David Nolan and Sean Herman hard at work at one of the tool benches, trying to fix one of Mrs. Edgar's mechanical reindeers. The Christmas tree-lighting festival was just around the corner (he'd reminded his young employees yesterday) and the faulty decorations that had been sent to him for repair were of the topmost priority.

"Marco!" Sean called jovially, looking up from his work, though his voice sounded strained. David looked up too and the men grinned at him, almost as if they'd expected him to show up today.

"Gentlemen?" Marco tipped the brim of his beret as he stared, rather bemused at the comedic sight. David was planted on one side of the work bench, pulling the butt of the reindeer toward him by its hind legs. His shoe was locked up against the bottom of the bench while Sean was kneeling on_ top_ of it, bracing himself by gripping the edge with one hand while the other arm was encircled tightly around the deer's neck. It looked, quite crudely, as if they were pulling the poor thing apart but really, they were simply trying to reattach the deer's motorized "galloping" legs by a tightly coiled spring that was supposed to connect the two halves at the base. "Please," he chuckled. "Don't let me disturb you."

At that moment, Sean lost his grip on the spring which, instead of snapping into place on David's half, sprang back toward his half with just enough force to throw him off balance, sending him flying off the table and crashing into a pile of discarded packing plastics on the floor. David and Marco howled with laughter as Sean rolled his eyes and maneuvered himself out of the trash. Still chuckling, David offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. "Well _that _didn't work," he told his partner as Sean brushed himself off.

Marco, still laughing, walked towards them and removed his cap. "Please remind me gentlemen, why I hired you?"

David smiled and shook the old man's hand. "Because we're endlessly entertaining, Mr. Collodi. What brings you in on a Sunday?"

Not having anticipated seeing either of them today, he hadn't quite sorted out an answer to that question, and his eyes darted nervously to his back room. "Umm, well…" he cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. "I thought I'd do some work on…well, if you must know—"

Sean flashed David a very knowing look as he crossed his arms and smiled. "That thing you have _no _idea how to make because you're – what was it David?" he joshed, handing off the cue.

"I believe he said he _wasn't_ a 'craftsman'?" David winked.

Realizing any level of pretense to be fruitless, Marco sighed and nodded. "Well you've clearly been snooping. So there's no point in denying it." No point at all really, since he had intended all along to tell Sean how fascinating the project was turning out to be and to thank him for providing a welcome sojourn from the mundane routine of the shop.

David nodded toward the back office. "Didn't mean to peek, Marco. But we saw the specs on your desk."

"Yeah, we can't believe we gave you the sketch _yesterday_ and you've already sorted out how you'll do it," Sean added. "Knew we had the right man for the job."

"Well thank you," Marco nodded graciously, removing his coat and tossing it over the front counter. "But as I warned you yesterday, I have never before crafted something like this. And there's still hardware I'll need that I have yet to locate."

Sean thought for a moment, taking a rag from his back pocket and wiping off his calloused hands. "What about Mr. Gold? Have you tried his shop?" At the mention of the name, David shot his coworker a sharp look but didn't say anything. Sean started, perplexed by his friend's reaction, but he too ceased the banter and looked awkwardly back at his boss.

"The…thought had…occurred," Marco said cautiously, noting the sudden shift in mood between the two, but decided ultimately not to press the matter. He'd known plenty of customers over the years who had elected to bring their treasures _here _to be fixed rather than visit Mr. Gold's shop for a possible replacement. Perhaps David Nolan simply had not yet grown used to the impish pawn broker. "We'll see," he smiled. "Carry on, gentlemen. Please don't let me keep you from that…poor young buck any longer." Then with a nod and a slight bow, he retreated to his office and closed the door.

Once the door clicked shut, Thomas turned immediately to James. "What!" he mumbled, moving back towards the tool bench and further from earshot of the office. "Look, after what he did to Ella, I hate Gold as much as you, but like you said the other night, we can't touch him. He's got too much power in this town and we're not sure what side he's on."

James shook his head, retrieving the coiled spring that had flown off the table. "I know but—"

"And if in the meantime, he has what Geppetto needs, then—"

"It's not that," James hissed, checking to be sure the office door was still shut. "It's just…" he trailed off, wishing he could continue to delay this particular revelation a little longer. It wasn't that he didn't _trust _Thomas not to do anything stupid. It was – Well…on second thought, yes. He _didn't_ trust Thomas not to do something stupid. "Mr. Gold is…an old enemy."

Thomas reeled back. "Who?" he barked.

James held out his hands, trying to preemptively temper the reaction sure to follow. "Rumpelstiltskin," he said softly.

Thomas, who had just picked up a socket wrench, clenched it so tightly his knuckles turned white. "_What_?" he seethed through gritted teeth.

James straightened up, prepared to bolt. "He's Rumpelstiltskin."

Without a word, Thomas dropped the wrench, spun on his heel and headed for the door. James was ready though and quickly slid in front of him, grasping his shoulder. "_Move_," Thomas said, his voice low and cold.

But James yanked him forward, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Don't be an idiot," he hissed.

Thomas grabbed James's wrist and wrenched it off his shoulder. "An _idiot_? That _whole_ night at Garcon's," he said. "_All _day yesterday, and you didn't _bother_ to tell me that you found out _'Stiltskin_ is Mr. Gold?"

"For God's sake, keep your voice down," James warned him and nodded wordlessly toward the auto shop. With a glance back at the office, the two of them headed for the garage. "I was gonna tell you today," James said as he switched on the lights in the garage and pulled the door shut. And it was the truth. Before Marco had walked in, Thomas had just finished telling him about the queen's appearance at Garcon's; James in turn had been about to relate the events that transpired at the pawn shop. The deal he'd cut with Rumpelstiltskin concerned Thomas most immediately because their two kingdoms ruled the realm, and it would be up to the two of them to honor the deal if and when they were returned to their world. It had been enormously presumptuous of James to have negotiated such terms without consulting Thomas, but he had hoped to lead up to that part a bit more gradually than this.

"Just slipped your mind then?" Thomas snapped, bracing one arm against the wall and leaning into it, his other hand at his hip.

"I was _getting_ there!" James countered. "Look, when I realized you didn't know who Gold was here, I deliberately _didn't _tell you because I knew _this_—" he gestured up and down the prince's aggressive stance "—would be your reaction. You can't just go running off and kill the man."

"The hell I can't," he said.

"Thomas—"

"Are you forgetting what he did? How he took advantage of Ella's misery? How he tricked her into promising—"

"Yes and the last time we took him on, we had the Blue Fairy, Grumpy, a magic quill, _and_ the diamond mines on our side, and he _still _managed to come out on top, leaving your pregnant wife without a husband and _you _in limbo."

Thomas looked away, crossing his arms with a grunt. He did _not _need to be reminded of how he and his wife had been wronged by the imp.

James sighed. "You didn't recognize him here because you'd barely glimpsed him before _you_ disappeared…And you didn't spend three months interrogating him in his cell." At this, Thomas turned, eyebrow raised. "You didn't learn…" James continued, "everything that_ I_ learned in trying to…bring you back."

The admission softened the glower in Thomas's eyes, for it had truly never occurred to him just how many people and how many hours went into finding him. And how could it, really? Time in limbo…moved twice as slowly. "And what exactly _did _you learn?" he asked, standing down a bit, a temporary assurance for James that Thomas would hear him out.

James stepped a bit closer. "That in order to beat 'Stiltskin," he said quietly, "you haveto play by _his_ rules."

Thomas dropped his arms, his shoulders slumped in exasperation, as he cocked his head to the side. "Deal-making."

James nodded soberly before he turned from the younger prince and leaned up against the car Leroy had started working on yesterday. "That's…actually what I was starting to tell you before Marco walked in."

Thomas straightened up again, wary of the new shift in James's tone. "Tell me what? Did you…oh James, you didn't!" he cried. "You made a _deal_ with him?"

"I had no choice. He _knows _who he _is,_ here. And heknows that _I _know. He's awake in the curse, Thomas. Like us. I had to be sure he wouldn't tell the queen…so yes, I made a deal."

Thomas slapped his forehead with his palm, reeling back in horror. It felt like déjà vu all over again. Except instead of his wife about to tell him she'd promised their first born child… "What did you promise him?" he asked, not really wanting the answer.

James took a deep breath, steeling himself against Thomas's disapproval. He knew he'd receive opposition, but there was still one thing his friend didn't know…one thing he couldn't possibly understand… "Amnesty," he said quietly, and explained fully the terms of Rumpelstiltskin's pardon.

When he was finished, Thomas practically had to pick his jaw up off the floor. Amnesty. Amnesty for _all _past crimes committed against their realm and sanctuary in James's kingdom while they spoke on that monster's _behalf _for services rendered to the crown. He glared at James, shaking his head in disbelief, and try as he might, he couldn't honestly understand _why _the elder prince would have offered such a sum simply in exchange for keeping a secret. For surely Rumpelstiltskin himself would want to keep his _own _secret and was therefore not an immediate threat. No…it simply wasn't consistent with what Thomas knew about James. He'd offered an entire kingdom's forgiveness in exchange for silence? Impossible. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked, his eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms once more over his chest. "I know you better than that James. And not even _Rumpelstiltskin_ would make a deal _that_ unbalanced." When James glanced up at him, Thomas knew he was right. For the question did not surprise his friend. In fact, it seemed expected. "Come on…" Thomas coaxed. "What _else _did he give you?"

"Information," James said. "For Emma Swan."

Thomas blinked. Emma Swan? As in the sheriff's new deputy? As in the woman who got Ella to the hospital (after stopping by his father's house and giving 'Sean' a piece of her mind)? "Ok?" he said, urging James to continue.

The elder prince sighed, and looked up toward the ceiling. "Emma was trying to help these two orphaned kids find their father before they got shipped off to foster care," he began, crossing one ankle over the other as he continued to lean his back against the car. Thomas soon joined him and was listening quietly (quite a change in temperament, James noticed hopefully). He continued. "She'd traced this guy all the way back to some trinket he'd apparently bought from Gold. I got there _just _before she'd made her own deal." Thomas's eyebrows flew up on his head but James ignored it. "I traded amnesty for his silence, the name of the man Emma needed to solve her case…andhis assurances that he _never _make another deal with or _about _Emma ever again."

Thomas studied him carefully for a few moments as he considered the bargain further: Silence, information and_ that _kind of guarantee? Well it was certainly a more balanced deal…but …"_Why_?" he asked quietly. James looked up. "Why Emma? I mean, don't get me wrong, she's a good deputy and I'm indebted to her for helping Ella a few weeks ago, but why go as far as offering 'Stiltskin a _full_ pardon for the sake of a girl you barely—"

"Because she's my daughter."

Thomas froze, glaring at the elder prince in utter shock. "Your—" he stammered, trying to make sense of it. He had been afraid to ask James about the child he and Snow had been expecting when last they spoke in their realm, but it was because he had feared something tragic had happened to the child. He'd never considered_…_he couldn't possibly have imagined that the deputy…that the young _woman_— "But she's…I mean she's gotta be—"

"I know," James said quietly, staring down at his shoes.

"Time _froze, _James. Ella was _pregnant_ for 28—"

"I know," he said again, looking up. "It's…the part I left out the other night. The _reason _we're all…waking up now."

Thomas's eyes grew wide as he stepped away from the car, planting himself in front of his friend. "Emma," he deduced quietly. "She…escaped the curse?"

James breathed a heavy sigh and at last, he nodded. "It was her destiny. To be our…savior." He swallowed hard, ignoring the sting in his eyes as he stared back at the floor. "She was born just before the queen stormed our castle. Snow and I sent her through to this world _ahead _of the curse. She grew up _here_…so that one day…she would come back and… and s-save us." He could barely get through the explanation and wiped both palms down his face in an effort to further stay the tears that threatened to spill. Thomas did not respond, but merely waited respectfully as James got hold of himself. With another deep breath, James finally felt he could continue. "She doesn't know who I am," he said sadly. "She doesn't even know who _she _is yet. But the _instant_ I saw her, I _knew_ her. And I can't…I _won't _let her sacrifice any more than she already has. Not for us." He looked up and leveled his eyes with his friend's. "So I need you to…to be with me on this, Thomas. If the worst should happen, and I don't make it back to our realm, it'll be up to _you_ to uphold the terms of the deal. So I'm asking you—"

"James," Thomas cut in, waving him off. As far as he was concerned James's request was a formality. All he had to do was think of his own daughter, to imagine Alexandra tangled up in Rumpelstiltskin's debt. His mind flashed back to what James had said at Garcon's: _You were returned to your wife's bedside with your baby girl in your arms and _her_ whole life still in front of her_. Gods, what his friend had endured…for the sake of them all. He stood before the elder prince and offered his arm, clasping James's own arm in a wordless oath. Solemnly…almost reverently…he nodded.

James nodded back. "Thank you," he whispered. And with nothing more that needed to be said, the two princes headed back for the lobby.

"Ah _there_ you are, my friends," they heard 'Marco's' voice. They turned and were startled to find him _not_ shut up in his office, but standing at the service desk, staring at the computer monitor. They glanced at each other nervously, but it didn't appear that Geppetto suspected them of anything or thought it strange for them to have disappeared into the garage. In fact, the craftsman was quite focused on the monitor, seeming rather dismayed. "Did either of you check the company inbox this morning?"

James looked at Thomas who shrugged and shook his head. "No. We accessed the work order on the Edgars' deer but then just got to work. Why?"

Marco shook his head. "I'm afraid we've lost the services of Michael Tillman."

"What?" James cried, rushing over to the desk. "What are you talking about?"

Startled by the young man's reaction, Marco hastily swiveled the monitor around so both could see.

James gripped the edge of the counter and pored over the screen:

_**Marco,**_

_**I wanted to thank you for your continued business with Tillman Trucking. You helped me get my start here and I'm grateful. But I'm afraid I have to dissolve our partnership effective immediately. Something came up and I have to leave Storybrooke tonight. Please don't ask me for further details as this news is quite sensitive. I'm afraid you will have to find a new towing service to partner with Collodi's. I doubt I will return to Storybrooke in the near future. **_

_**Respectfully,**_

_**M. Tillman**_

Thomas was reading over James's shoulder by the time James was through it. "Wow," Thomas said, cocking an eyebrow. "That's…really…random."

"Indeed," Marco agreed. "What a shame. I hope it's nothing too serious." With a sad shrug, Marco turned away from the computer.

As the old man bent down below the counter to search for something in the cabinets, Thomas turned and whispered to James. "I thought you we can't leave Storybrooke."

James glanced out of the side of his eye. "We _can't,_" he muttered, still glaring at the computer monitor, his head spinning. A tiny part of him hoped that by some miracle, Emma had united Michael with his children and the _three _of them had somehow escaped town. But he seriously doubted it. "Michael's the man Emma was looking for last night," he hissed, mindful that Geppetto was still turned away.

Thomas started. "Michael? Michael _Tillman's_ got kids?"

James nodded. "And from the looks of this—" he jabbed a finger toward the screen. "I think all three of 'em are in serious trouble."

…

***** This is really the first half of the GIANT chapter I had planned. Several more scenes in the works for Belle, Ella Snow and James. Hoping to update once more before Sunday. Stay Tuned!*****


	18. The Luckiest Girl in the World

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**The Luckiest Girl in the World**

_"Belle!" he cried, wrenching his wrists from the doctor's cruel grasp. "Belle! My love!" he shouted again while she looked on in horror. She should run. She should take her book and flee this maddening scene, but she couldn't. She was rooted to the ground. "Belle!"_

_ "What are you doing in here?"_

_ "Who are you?"_

"_Get her out of here!"_

"_How did you get in?"_

"_She's disturbing the patient!"_

"_Belle!"—_

_And then all of sudden—he was before her, free of restraint and standing tall. He seemed to tower over her – the height of a giant. His piercing blue eyes bore into her soul holding her captive. How had he freed himself? What happened to the black straps that had tied him down? Where were all the doctors?_

_ The hospital room seemed to dissolve away as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and she knew she should be afraid. The man was insane – literally. But what she felt…was not fear. "Belle," he whispered, his voice free of agitation. She gulped hard, willing herself to turn from him, but she was hopelessly stuck, her heart beating wildly as he drew the tip of one finger from her temple down the side of her cheek, his touch so light, so gentle, yet it seemed to sear her skin. She was panting now – taking in short breathless gulps as his finger reached her chin and tilted her head back to meet his gaze. He was so enormous she had to practically stare at the ceiling to look in his eyes: two deep pools of starlight that captured and held her in this unbelievable trance. His hand closed around her neck, warm and posessive, before sliding down to the hollow at her throat where he stroked his thumb along her collar bone. "Belle," his voice soaked into her soul as his arm encircled her waist and she felt herself carried upward. _

_ Without knowing how she got there, she was lying on her back now, pressed into a golden mattress with folds of soft duvet pillowing up beneath her. "Don't be afraid" he whispered to her, his breath hot against her cheek as he settled next to her, sliding one hand across her belly, the other draped around her head as he amorously stroked the long brown curls right at her temple. _

_ "I'm not," she heard herself say, though she hardly knew why. It was as if she was in a play…and she _knew_ that was her line. Slowly, her hand trembling, she reached up and tunneled her fingers through his own dusty blonde locks, marveling at how soft, how fine they were. Her hand settled at his cheek and she looked back into his eyes. He grinned…a devastating, gorgeous grin. A grin she _knew…_and she melted against him, pressing herself into the curves of his body as he withdrew her hand from his face and lifted it to his mouth. Heat pulsed through her as she lay transfixed by his smoldering gaze while he kissed the tips of her fingers with torturous leisure._

_ Her whole body quivered with excitement, though in her mind she had become a stranger to herself. Who _was _this man? Why was she allowing him to—oh…oh merciful heavens…_

_ With agonizing tenderness, he'd laid her arm down at her side and settled his hand at her shoulder, his palm just barely grazing where her neckline met skin. How in the world had she come to be donned in nothing but a white satin night dress? And _why _in God's name was she allowing him to…slowly…peel it…down…her shoulder…_

_ He stopped _just_ short of too far and continued to trail his hand down the length of her arm, smoothing his palm over her waist and then shaping it up the side of her ribcage, pausing beneath the swell of her breast. Forget about breathing; she could barely _move,_ and it was all she could do not to _completely_ come apart as he darted his head down and sealed her mouth with his. A tiny whimper escaped her as she arched into the kiss, seeking to claim him in turn as she slid her hands up and around his broad shoulders. His right arm slipped beneath her neck and cradled her to him while his other hand continued to caress her as he drank his fill, taking long swooning sips from her lips. She clutched him close, relishing in the sweet, low rumble that escaped his throat as she feathered the hair at the base of his neck. When at last he pulled away, she shivered in anticipation of what he'd do next—_

_ And then she was standing again, cold and shaking…and back in the hospital room. Her body ached and mourned the sudden loss of his warmth and touch. She darted her eyes around in a panic. And then she saw him, lying once more on the hospital bed, moonlight shining through the barred windows. She tried to approach him, but every step she took seemed to move her farther away. "Hey!" she cried out, breaking into a sprint, trying desperately to reach him. Her shoes fell heavily on the cold tile and she stretched her arms forth, trying to clasp the metal rungs of the hospital cot. It seemed a hopeless endeavor and then—_

_ She was right beside him, braced over the edge of the bed. He was still for only a moment, and then his hand shot up from his side and grasped her wrist. His eyes flew open…and once more, he repeated the name. "Belle!" he pleaded in terror. "Find me!"—_

"Adam!" she cried out, lurching up from her father's cot. The name seemed to tear from her throat and she gasped for air, clutching the side railing near Mo's hand where she'd been resting. She'd been bent over in her chair, her head cradled in her arms atop the thin mattress. Glancing down now, she noticed the sweat stain on the sheets and frowned as she lifted a tissue from the dispenser on her papa's tray table and dabbed it dry.

"Goodness Miss French, are you all right?" she heard, and she started as her eyes fell on a shadowed figure in the doorway. She squinted, willing herself to focus through the hazy spots still flooding her vision.

"Dr. Stone?" she said at last as the little man walked into the room.

He chuckled affectionately as he moved passed her and grabbed the chain of the blinds. "That must have been some dream," he said. With one pull, the blades cracked open and sunlight spilled into the room.

Rose shrank from the light, still trying to adjust to the rather disorienting morning she seemed to be having. "Hmm?" she said as she rubbed her bleary eyes. She glanced at her father, who was still sound asleep, and then checked her watch. 10:30 already?

"That dream," Stone said again. "Must have been awfully intense."

Rose frowned again, "What dream?"

Dr. Stone pulled a stool up to the foot of the bed and sat himself down next to her. "You don't remember? You were calling someone's name over and over again."

"I was—I—" Rose plopped a hand on top of her head and fisted a large chunk of hair near her loose ponytail as she glanced around. "Huh?"

With a shrug, Dr. Stone shook his head. "No matter," he chuckled, laying a chart across his lap. "I thought you'd be hungry, so I took the liberty of stopping by the cafeteria." He reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a slightly smushed cheese danish wrapped in a paper napkin. "Of course, if you'd prefer the cherry, I'd be happy to—"

"Oh no," Rose said, hastily reaching forward and smiling gratefully. "No this is…perfect. Too kind of you, really." The sweet surgeon smiled, and Rose squeezed his wrist with one hand as she took the pastry in the other. "Thank you."

"My pleasure dear. I had a feeling when I arranged for late hours last night that you'd still be here in the morning," he winked, glancing down at Mo. "Our patients' most…dedicated loved ones always are."

Rose blushed slightly, but smiled again and nodded, looking back at her papa. It didn't surprise her one bit that he should be sleeping through this entire conversation. World War III could erupt at the corner drugstore just 200 feet from their house and Mo would snore soundly through the entire thing.

"I also thought you might like an update of your father's case," he said, flipping through the chart.

Rose straightened up in her chair and wiped a little leftover sleep-spittle from the corner of her mouth. She supposed she looked atrocious, but she suspected Dr. Stone wasn't the type to mind. As she scooted her chair forward, she felt her stomach churn a little bit. Deciding it was because she was nervous about the prognosis, she focused solely on the doctor. "How is he?"

Dr. Stone grinned broadly as he leaned back in his chair. "He's doing quite well, Miss French. Quite well indeed."

Tears stung her eyes as her soul flooded with relief (though the slight stomach ache remained) and Rose sank back with a sigh. "Really?"

He nodded. "Really. As long as we can rebalance the meds his general physician has him taking for the urinary issues and the heart problem, I see no reason why he can't go home today."

"Oh Doctor Stone, thank you _so _much," she leaned forward and threw her arms around his neck, ignoring how her stomach flip-flopped when she moved. _Something I ate last night, probably_, she thought as Dr. Stone chuckled his light-hearted laugh again and patted her back.

"No thanks necessary, my dear. Your father did all the work." He glanced down at his patient. "Got himself here, checked in, took it easy…the problem corrected itself with _his_ rest and _your _patience."

At the word 'patience', Rose couldn't help but roll her eyes. After all, she'd been practically hysterical with Dr. Whale. But the doctor sensed her dubiousness and patted her hand. "I believe you're _both _going to be fine."

She sighed, covering his hand with her own, and smiled. "Thank you."

With one last squeeze, Dr. Stone rose once more and straightened out the lapels of his lab coat. "Well," he said turning from her as Rose reached for her father's hand. "I'll let you get back to _Adam_," he teased.

Rose's eyes flew up and she gasped, her mouth hanging open at Stone's seemingly harmless joke. "What?" she cried.

Stone jerked a little, unaware the remark would cause such uneasiness. "Adam," he said a little more warily. "The name you kept calling out when you were sleeping. I assumed it was a…a beau of some sort."

"No I—" but her breath caught in her throat as images came racing back. _What are you doing in here?_ Her heart started thumping hard against her chest as the events of last few hours reclaimed her. _ Belle! My love…RUN!_ Rose screeched in pain as she clawed and pulled at fistfuls of her hair, her head pounding as her brain tried to sort out the visions. Which were real? What _happened_ last night?

"Miss French!" Doctor Stone cried. "Miss French, are you all right?"

"Rose?" came her father's voice into the mix, who was startled awake by her screeching.

But the two men seemed miles away as more memories flooded her mind: _Belle…don't be afraid… Belle… Belle… Find me!_

"Rose!" Mo cried out, lunging forward in his bed as he tried to reach for his daughter. But Rose's eyes slammed shut and her stomach started doing summersaults. The nausea became unbearable when Dr. Stone grasped her arms and shook her by the shoulders, trying to snap her out of this disturbing fit.

Her eyes sprang open, glaring at Stone. Was it real? Was it imagined? The terror in the eyes of a man being wrangled by orderlies…the passion in the eyes of a man who _wanted_ her. _Needed _her. Both seemed real: Memories she _knew _she'd lived. But how? He's a patient in the psych ward, she thought. He didn't even _exist _before today! He called her _Belle! _So why—how—what…As Stone finally punched the wall intercom for assistance, Rose hurled herself toward the bathroom…and threw up.

…

Though Granny _never _chided her for it, Ashley hated being late, and today was no exception as she extracted Alex from the car, slung the baby bag over her shoulder and kicked the door shut before heading into the diner. She was such a benevolent woman, Granny – tough as nails of course, but with a heart of gold. And with zero support from either of their families, Sean and Ashley had come to depend on Granny for far more than Ashley's income. On mornings when they both had to work, Granny not only allowed her to bring little Alex with her, but provided child care as well. The 'bed' part of 'Bed and Breakfast' had never gotten much business despite Granny's first-class hospitality. So the old bitty had converted one of the first floor guest rooms into a nursery of sorts, full of old toys, blankets, a dresser for Ashley to store spare changes of clothes, diapers and a place even for Ashley to sit and rest or nurse her daughter. Ashley suspected her overwhelming support had something to do with Granny's latent maternal instincts _clearly _wasted on Ruby. She had observed or overheard enough spats between grand-mother and daughter to know the resentment between the two was buried deep. Ashley liked to think that, in some way, being around Alex softened the old bat and might one day help to repair the scars between her and Ruby. It would be a nice way to repay the woman for so much patience and understanding.

"I'm _so _sorry, Marie," she called out, clumsily maneuvering the portable car seat, bag and purse through the heavy double doors of the diner. "The line at the drugstore was _so _long and it took forever to—"

"Don't worry your little head about it," said the woman as she stepped out from behind the counter and met her young charge at the door. Granny, pleasingly plump and cheery in her light brown cardigan and rose-colored corduroys, performed the well-practiced hand off like a pro, scooping Alex out of her seat and onto her shoulder while she hung the handle of the car seat on her arm.

"Thanks," Ashley rasped, out of breath and shaking her arm out from relief of the weight. She started moving toward the counter, heading for the row of wooden hooks on which were hung the aprons. "She's already been fed and—" Ashley stopped dead in her tracks as she caught sight of the party seated at the corner booth. Two women – both sitting straight and tall with a sort of imperial mien as they haughtily observed the rest of the patrons. On the right was Regina Mills, her sleek black hair coifed and bobbed gracefully at her shoulders, her hands delicately tracing the rim of her juice glass. Ashley couldn't help run her gaze down the mayor's elegant gray suit, perfectly tailored to her slim figure, legs crossed and tucked up close to the base of the booth with one red pump prominently displayed in the aisle. An embarrassed blush filled her cheeks as she stared down at her waitressing garb. Granny thankfully never made her wear those ruffled aprons and checkered blouses she saw in magazines or sitcoms, but it didn't change the fact that Regina's sleek and professional veneer was such an obvious contrast to Ashley's starchy white shirt dress, red belt and worn sneakers. Of course, Regina's regal presence wasn't the worst of it. For today, it appeared Storybrooke's head matriarch was lunching early this morning…with Ashley's stepmother.

"Ashley!" the latter woman called out as if she hadn't seen the girl in years and was simply bursting with affection. This alone put Ashley on the alert, for the woman had barely spoken a kind word to her in…well for as long as she could remember. They had been on friendly enough terms when her father was alive, and had remained at least civil for a few months following his death. But Ashley was not so easily fooled. This woman felt no warmth for her. Rodmilla Tremaine was a horrible, selfish creature. And it wasn't long after she'd gotten pregnant that she'd cast out on her own and severed all ties with her father's second wife.

"Rodmilla," she said warily, casting a sideways glance at Granny who'd thrown both women a contemptible glare (as if to say – "don't mess with my girl") and then offered Ashley a supportive nod.

"Come sit with us for a moment dear," said Rodmilla in a syrupy voice. "That is of course," she glanced at Granny with exaggerated consideration, "if your employer doesn't mind."

Marie rolled her eyes as she gestured for Ashley to place the baby bag in the empty car seat. "She can sit a minute…if she _wants _to," Granny said acerbically.

Ashley gave her a weak but grateful smile and watched as Alex's favorite surrogate aunt removed her to the back room. Left alone in a relatively empty diner save for a few regulars at the counter, Ashley took a deep breath, hung her coat next to her apron, and walked over to the booth.

Rodmilla slid over, lifting her brown leather gloves and fur scarf out of the way, indicating that she should sit. Ashley tugged her dress down self-consciously, trying to cover a tomato soup stain right above her thigh and settled into the booth. "How…" she cleared her throat. "How are you, Rodmilla?" she managed.

"Fine dear, just fine," Rodmilla leaned over and patted Ashley's hand.

She flinched, but politely chose not to pull it away. The last time they had spoken, her step mother had mercilessly teased her about the idiocy of getting "knocked-up" in this day and age and that if she knew what was good for her, she'd "get rid of the bastard before it ruined her girlish figure"…this certainly didn't track with _fine dear, just fine._

"Regina here tells me that you have some _wonderful _news!"

Ashley's eyes darted up to the mayor who was glaring at her, though smiling.

"Yes," Regina confirmed. "Sean Herman told me last night that wedding bells are about to ring?"

There was something decidedly bizarre about this conversation, and Ashley couldn't shake the feeling that she was in some sort of strange, warped reality of Storybrooke. For her entire life, women of stature and status had cast an arrogant, judgmental eye over her poor existence. Why on earth were they demonstrating any interest now?

"Yyyes," she said cautiously. "I was actually going to come to your office tomorrow and make an appointment to—"

"Apply for a marriage license?" Regina smiled. "Consider it done. I will expect you and Sean by 1:00pm tomorrow?"

Ashley drew back. She had assured Sean just this morning that she didn't think Regina Mills so fickle as to allow her friendship with Mr. Herman to deter her from issuing a license…but she hadn't expected such eager anticipation. "Umm, 1pm. Sounds perfect. I'm sure Sean can get away from work for an hour."

"Sean Herman," Rodmilla clucked, cocking her head thoughtfully to one side. "I must admit Ashley, when you told me you were pregnant, I'd never dreamed the young man would do right by you and propose. If I had, I certainly wouldn't have behaved so _awfully _at the time."

Ashley leaned back, her eyes narrowing. So _that _was it. Same old Rodmilla. She'd heard Ashley had "snagged a rich boy" and was now worthy to be called step-daughter again. She was about to say as much when her breath caught in her throat and she started coughing.

"Oh!" Rodmilla exclaimed in unabashed horror. "Oh dear, I forgot." She hastily withdrew her hand and took a napkin from the wire holder against the wall. "You're quite allergic to my cat, aren't you," she said, dipping the napkin in her water glass and washing the stray furs from her sleeve and wrist.

As Ashley continued coughing and sniffling, Regina slid her juice glass forward. "Here, take a sip," she said soothingly.

Ashley's eyes started watering and got quite bleary as she gratefully lifted the glass to her lips and took a gulp. "Thank you," she said, clearing her throat as her symptoms calmed. The juice had a sweet, tangy aftertaste and she was fairly certain she'd never tasted anything in Granny's inventory this sweet. "What is it?"

Regina's lips curled into a winning smile. "Apple cider."

Ashley nodded and took another sip.

The two women watched her carefully, their eyes blazing like firelight as she downed the entire glass. When she was through, Rodmilla cleared her throat. "So I was _just _bragging to Regina what a lucky girl you turned out to be."

"Lucky?" Ashley looked up, puzzled and a bit annoyed as her step mother continued this absurd roleplaying. "Whadyou—" she started to say, but then grew a bit dizzy, images sort of tilting and swirling in front of her eyes.

"Miss Boyd, are you alright?" asked Regina in mock concern.

Ashley brought her hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. "Sorry," she mumbled. She shook out her blonde locks and sucked in a breath, looking up once more at the mayor. "Sudden headache."

"Well I can certainly understand that," Regina replied. "The strain you've both put yourself under."

Ashley swallowed hard, her head still spinning. "S-strain?"

"Well you know, supporting yourselves. Not being able to see each other very much during the day."

"We…we manage," Ashley said. What was_ wrong_ with her? _We manage?_ Things were going great!

"And you're doing such a good job too," said Lady Tremaine. The women exchanged knowing looks as they watched their target shrink further into her seat. "What with you here and Sean working _two _jobs?"

"Yes," added Regina. "I saw him last night at Garcon's. Can you _believe, _Rodmilla," she looked to Tremaine, but kept a sideways glance on Ashley, "that he gave up that full ride to Fort Kent?"

Ashley jerked and shook her head, wondering if in the midst of her sudden headache that she had heard wrong. "Th-the what?"

Rodmilla audibly gasped. "Oh goodness, you mean you didn't _know_?" She feigned embarrassment. "It's all over the grapevine. I thought for sure he'd tell you…but then again he probably didn't want to burden you dear."

Ashley's eyes darted between them. "What are you talking about?"

Regina leaned forward and covered Ashley's hand atop the table. "Sean was awarded full tuition _and _room and board to the University of Maine at Fort Kent. Over $75,000 total each year for four years. Apparently, he was accepted into their business administration program in the fall…but surely you _knew _he'd dropped out, dear."

Ashley yanked her hand back, massaging her wrist as she shrank further into herself. "Well yeah, I knew he'd dropped out but I didn't—"

"Oh hush, Regina," Rodmilla playfully waved her off and patted Ashley's shoulder. "The point is, you must feel pretty special. He must love you _very_ much to have given _all _of that up."

"Not to mention his _father's_ love and inheritance," Regina put in, withdrawing her hand from the center of the table and toying with the teeth of her fork. "Why I heard old Mr. Herman is just impossible to deal with these days."

"And why wouldn't he be? I mean after all the trouble he went through to secure that future for Sean?"

"Stop it," Ashley whispered, trying to will her voice to be stronger. But it came out mousy and uncertain. _A full ride? Seventy-five _thousand _dollars?_ Why hadn't he _told _her? Her mind continued to spin as she got dizzier and dizzier.

"Yes, but what is all that, Rodmilla, to _true love_? I don't think Sean has regretted it for a moment. Do you dear?"

Though Ashley was now growing queasy (what in the world did Granny put in her apple juice!) she could still detect the toxic sneer in the mayor's voice. "N-no," she stammered, cradling her forehead in her palm. "No he hasn't." But her voice had lost all conviction. She was panting now, flushed and feverish, as she wiped a bead of sweat trickling down her brow. Unable to stand it any longer, she planted her palms on the table and moved to push herself out of the booth, when her stepmother's hand shot out and clamped down on her wrist. "Well, there you have it Regina. True love really does conquer all. I do believe…this is the _luckiest _girl in the world."

Ashley shrank back from her stepmother, unable to utter even the tiniest squeak in reply as she stumbled out of the booth and back to the counter. She had known Sean applied to Fort Kent. She'd even taken him out to celebrate when he got his acceptance letter. But…a _full ride_? No _wonder _his father had barged into Granny's that day, soundly reprimanding her for "ruining his life." What an opportunity he'd had – gone to waste…because of her—

"Ashley?" she heard Granny's voice, but she couldn't pick her head up. She merely stood there, gripping the edge of the counter in short, wheezing breaths.

_Can you _believe _that he gave up that full ride to Fort Kent…_

"Ashley"…

_How can you do this to him? How can you let him ruin his life like this…_

"Ashley?"…

_Why I heard old Mr. Herman is just impossible to deal with these days…_

"Ashley!" her boss was nearly shouting now, but it wasn't actually Granny who snapped her out of it. It was the cry of her daughter that wrenched her gaze from the faded counter stool to where Marie stood holding Alex. She was squirming in the old woman's arms, her face streaked with tears. Soon it turned into that labored, silent wail that so often freaked Ashley out – the one where Alex's mouth hung open, her little face turned beat red and twisted in anguish, but no actual sound came out because the girl forgot to breathe. Ashley rushed behind the counter just as her daughter finally took a _huge _gulp of air and resumed her crying like normal. "I don't know what happened," said Marie as she transferred the baby to her mother's arms. "She went down without a fuss and was giggling and smiling when she just…started crying—" Marie stopped, noting the tears in Ashley's own eyes. She darted a glare over at the women in her far booth and bristled. "Ash," she seethed through gritted teeth, "what did they _say_ to you?"

"It doesn't matter," Ashley moaned quietly as she held Alex close, bouncing her up and down on her shoulder.

Granny grabbed her arm and squeezed tightly. "The hell it doesn't—"

"No, Gran…really, it's not them. It's—" but she froze, realizing suddenly as she looked down at her daughter, that the crying had completely stopped…Alex was asleep. Gently, and a little in awe, she shifted her hold into a cradle and gazed down at her little girl. It was as if Alex _knew_ her mother was in pain, as if she _felt _it herself and needed to be close. For now, curled into her mom's safe embrace, there was not a trace of stress or sadness on her perfect little face. Her beautiful, tiny face…

_You think I've been unhappy…but I _promise _you, I'm not…_

Alex was cooing softly, and Ashley reached her free hand up and tenderly stroked her baby-soft cheek…

_Look at me…I'm not going anywhere…_

Alex's hands curled into miniature fists, and she raised her little arms in an adorable stretch as she yawned and then clasped her tiny fingers around Ashley's thumb…

_You practically gave birth in Deputy Swan's _car!..._You can do anything…_

Visions of Sean continued to envelop her, chasing away doubts and fears, as she gazed at her daughter. _Their _daughter. And soon, the dizzying effects of…well, _whatever_ that was, were gone. With a strange and wonderful feeling of triumph, she whirled around and glared at the two women who were chatting away, no doubt congratulating themselves on a well-executed humiliation. "Marie?" she said, her strong voice clear as a bell. Granny's eyes bugged out, startled by her waitress's sudden transformation. And then Ashley grinned. "Gimme their check."

Granny beamed at her, thrilled that this self-conscious fit had vanished and been replaced with that same bit of gumption she'd been seeing in Ashley of late. Without a word, she let Ashley transfer the now sleeping Alex back into her arms as she reached in her apron and pulled out an order pad.

Ashley took it, nodded thank you, and stalked back over to the table where she tore the ladies' check from the pad and slammed it down in front of them.

Regina actually jumped a bit, and Rodmilla looked up, startled. Both women were clearly surprised to see the girl back at their table, but Rodmilla didn't miss a beat. Her lips curled into a sweet smile as she slid the receipt to her side. "Why thank you dear," she cooed.

"Oh _stop _it," Ashley snapped, and this time, Rodmilla jerked. "I'm not _dear _to you, I never have been. And I don't know _why, _after how _horrible _you were to me for my _entire _life, you thought I'd fall for this."

"Ashley, we—"

"Quiet!" she barked at Regina as she planted a hand on the edge of the tabletop and leaned in. "I _won't _stand here and be made to feel guilty for the choices I've made. For the life I've made for myself…not by _you_, not by _anyone_."

Regina opened her mouth again to object, but Ashley would hear none of it, and the two vixens were so shocked by the transformation, they were quite silenced by the waitress's icy stare. "I will say _this _though," she straightened back up and smiled. "You were right about one thing…I _am _the _luckiest _girl in the world." She glanced up at the heavens, a vision of Sean kneeling before her in her mind. "The man that I love…the _father _of my child…wants to marry me and raise our daughter together." Thoughts of him warmed her as the words spilled from her mouth. With a triumphant laugh, she glanced back down at them and finished, "I can't think of _anything_ more wonderful than _that_. Can you?" Her step mother's mouth hung open like a dead fish and Regina simply fumed. The stunned looks on their faces thrilled her as they gaped angrily. Ashley stepped back and adopted an overly formal, professional veneer. "Thank you for dining with us today, ladies. Please pay at the counter!" And feeling about nine feet tall, Ashley spun on her heel and marched away.

…

Emma glanced down at her phone for the fourth time in the last two minutes, staring at the blank screen that read **NO MESSAGES** and briefly, she wondered what bothered her more: the fact that she hadn't gotten anything from Mary Margaret _all _afternoon…or the fact that she so desperately _wanted _to. As much as she preferred to just sit in the station house and seethe on behalf of the Zimmers, it was _Mary's _face rather than the children's that continued to haunt her. What she'd said last night and again this morning had been the truth. But it didn't erase the hurt she'd seen in the eyes of her roommate.

The desk rattled as the phone vibrated, and Emma lunged forward in her chair.

**ABOUT HALFWAY THERE** it read…and it was from Graham. Emma sighed, thumbed back **THX** and set the phone down again. She had asked Graham to send her a few updates, particularly when he arrived at each home. Though she had no hope, she wanted Graham to give an accurate review of the conditions of the home. If something seemed even the _slightest _bit off, Emma wanted to know.

With another fruitless glance at her phone, Emma swiveled in her chair and revived the office computer from sleep mode. It was Sunday, so technically the sheriff's office could run off the remote message service, alerting both her and Graham if anything serious required their attention. But Emma couldn't go home. Not now. Not yet. _Why_ had she gotten so _vicious_? How could she have lashed out like that at a woman so wholly without fault for the whole situation? And however right Emma's hunch might yet be about David, _that _was certainly not the right way to broach the subject. _If that helps you sleep at night, be my guest! _ Emma shivered with disgust.

She had intended to bring it up casually, perhaps over a night of popcorn and wine at the kitchen island. David's appearance at the pawn shop not 15 minutes after she'd left Mary's house had been no coincidence. His apparent need to play hero, his interest in Henry—these were still mysteries to Emma, but there was definitely some communication still being had between him and Mary Margaret. Emma had warned her roommate once before about getting involved with a married man. She didn't want to see her new friend get hurt. But bringing it up in the midst of her anger over Michael Tillman? She'd had no idea how…poisonous she could be.

With a sudden need for forgiveness, Emma swiped her phone, flipped it open and started typing. But before she could send anything, the glass doors whooshed open and in walked Henry.

"Hey Emma!" he said brightly, his backpack bouncing up and down behind his shoulders as he cantered toward her. Emma snapped her phone shut without finishing her message and turned to face him. "I was on my way to Miss Blanchard's when I saw your car outside. Why you working today?"

Emma cleared a lump in her throat, realizing that when last she saw Henry, she was dropping him off home and then going to bring Ava and Nicolas to meet their father. "I uh…I just needed to get out of the house for a while."

Henry stared up at her, confused for a moment, then shrugged. "Well," he said, sliding his book bag onto one arm and unzipping the pouch, "I was comin' to see if you wanted to go over and visit Ava and Nicolas. I promised Nick I'd show 'im my Captain America comics." He pulled a thick stack of comic books from his bag and proudly showed off his collection.

"Uh Henry—"

But the boy suddenly took a step back and pondered for a moment, a pensive frown across his face. "Unless you think maybe they need time with just their dad," he said considerately.

"Listen—"

"Although," Henry brightened on the other hand, "maybe Michael Tillman'll be glad for the extra help!"

"Henry!" Emma implored, her heart breaking for what she knew she must reveal. Her son finally quieted, glancing up at her with blank innocence. "Sit down, Kid," she said with a sigh, pushing herself off her chair and gesturing for him to take her seat. "There's something I gotta tell you."

…

Rose paced up and down the exam room, arms wrapped around her waist as she sighed impatiently, waiting for Dr. Stone to return. Honestly, all this fuss over nothing, she told herself – though a small part of her knew it wasn't _nothing_. After all, since recalling that terrifying episode in the psych ward…and remembering her dream…she'd been simply unnerved by the whole ordeal and wanted nothing more than to check her father out and _leave _this dreaded hospital for good. Everything – her queasiness, her head aches, the strange magnetic pull she still felt mysteriously keeping her here – everything would go away if she could just _leave._

It was practically noon before Dr. Stone finally pulled the curtain open, a clipboard of results tucked under his arm. Following the incident in Mo's room, Stone had _insisted _on running a few tests, just to be sure it wasn't anything more than stress over her father's illness.

"Oh, Dr. Stone," she gasped with relief. "Finally." She was so anxious to get _out _of this blasted place that she barely noticed the tense discomfort in the kind doctor's eyes. Scurrying about the exam room, Rose slung her purse over her shoulder and draped her coat over her arm. "So am I all checked out? Everything ok?"

Dr. Stone peeked down at the test results in hand and adjusted his glasses. "Miss French—"

"It's Rose…please," she said, offering him a small smile…and still seemingly oblivious to his nervous exterior.

Stone paused, and then gave her a weak smile. "Rose," he conceded. "I think you should sit down."

Finally, Rose seemed to register the tightness in the doctor's tone – a voice she'd come to know quite well in the last 12 hours and had come to depend on for comfort and reassurance. That there was neither in his voice now chilled her like a bucket of ice water down her spine. "What is it?" she cried. "Has something happened? Did my father—"

"It's not your father," Stone answered sharply, and with a bit more authority, beckoned her into the chair. "It's you."

Rose stumbled back into the chair, folding her coat over her lap and letting her purse dangle down at her ankles. She felt herself going numb as the doctor rolled a stool up beside her. "Wh-what is it?" she asked, wringing her hands together.

Stone opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut, wondering how in the world general physicians did this kind of thing every day. His interaction with Rose French and her father was not typical of Tobias Stone's normal routine. He was a surgeon. When he worked on _his _patients, they were typically unconscious, and the nurses handled much of the pre and post-op care. For as long as he could remember, Tobias had preferred the life of a surgeon. Too much interaction on a personal level made it difficult for him to do his job. But something about Rose and Mo…and their friend Mary Margaret had sparked something Tobias hadn't felt…well, ever. As bizarre as it seemed, these people…felt like family. "Rose, forgive me for asking but…do you have…someone in your life?"

Rose drew back from him, her brow furrowed in utter bewilderment. "What has that got to do—"

"I know it's a rather forward question, but…that gentleman who was here with you for a little while last night," he remembered, for when he'd returned to say goodnight for the evening, he'd noted the man sitting in the corner flipping through a magazine. The brute didn't seem too interested in the final update on Mo, but he'd noticed the man's shoulders tense when Stone had placed a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Is he…well, I suppose it's not really my business," he decided, glancing back down at his clipboard. Just keep it about the diagnosis. Keep it professional, he thought.

"Doctor I don't—I mean what does that…" Rose glanced down too and saw that the poor doc's hands were trembling as he handled her results. "Doctor Stone," she wheezed as she felt that nausea creep back into her belly. "Am I…am I sick?"

Stone shook his head at once, glancing up and patting her hand reflexively. "No my dear. No not at all."

"Then what—"

"There's just no…easy way to…" he sighed, withdrawing his hand and removing his glasses.

Rose frowned. Beneath his spectacles, the little man looked old…tired. "Please," she said, her voice trembling. "What is it?"

Looking up once more, Stone replaced his glasses, caving to the inevitable. "Rose…you're pregnant."

…

"What do you _mean _there's no point?" Henry cried, slapping his palm against Emma's desk. They'd been arguing for ten minutes on whether or not to actually _call _the children homes in Boston. Privately, Emma was kicking _herself_ for not thinking to do that 24 hours ago, but realistically she knew her son was just not handling the news well.

"Because, Henry," she said. "It's Sunday. No one from administration would be there to take a call." A lame excuse, she knew. Truthfully, there _was _probably a way to reach the headmistress of the girls' place. But Graham was already halfway there and planned to text her as soon as he checked Ava in.

"I can't believe you're just gonna _give up_!" Henry shouted, his face twisted up in fury. He loved his mom, but _honestly_…she could be so…so…stupid sometimes!

"Hey!" Emma countered, feeling more like she was fighting with a sibling than a son. "_I'm _not the one who gave up, ok? _Michael Tillman_ gave up. Don't forget that. _He's_ the one who left town."

"Ghrrrmmmgah!" Henry let out an exasperated grunt and thunked his forehead on the desktop. "No. One. Ever. Leaves. This. Town!" he groaned into the pile of paperwork, beating his fists against the desk on every word. He felt like a broken record. How could she be so blind? As was the case with most children, it was impossible for Henry to deal in anything but absolutes. And his steadfast devotion to the curse prevented him from even considering that maybe Michael Tillman had at least _intended _to leave, regardless of what may have happened to him afterwards when he'd tried. "How many times do I have to _tell_ you that?" he moaned.

"Hey, calm down, Kid—" Emma said, wishing suddenly she'd held on to Michael's note. She knew it would be difficult for her son to learn how cruel this world really was, but she hadn't counted on him actually beating his head against the desk.

"Why are you being so…so _you_?" he whipped his head up again and glared at her. She started back as he continued. "Look, remember what happened to Ashley when she tried to leave? _Car accident_…and then she started having her _baby!_"

"That was coincidence, Henry. Trust me, there's been no car accident. Graham's been texting me all day."

"_Right_," he scoffed. "Cuz _that _can't be _faked_."

"Henry—"

"After everything you saw? The book? The compass? Prince _Charming _taking on Rumpelstiltskin?" At this, he popped up out of the chair, thrusting his fist in the air while his face lit up at the memory of seeing Pops in action last night, if only for a few minutes.

With all the patience she could muster, Emma closed her eyes and inhaled sharply through her nose. What was it like to have that active an imagination, she wondered absently. It was no small wonder the kid's brain didn't overload from the energy alone. "Look," she took another deep breath, "I know you wanna think the answer to everything is in Operation Cobra—"

"It is!" he urged.

"But sometimes the real world has to come first—"

"And what if they're the same?" he argued, stepping towards his mom like a soldier standing his ground. "_You're _the one who told _me _that youhave a _superpower_. Did you use it?"

Emma's eyes widened and she shook her head, reeling from the jarring question. "What?"

Henry crossed his arms and tapped his foot, cocking an eyebrow as he asked again. "On Michael Tillman. Did you use your superpower?"

She gulped, unable to look away from the kid's officious gaze. "Yyyes?"

"Well?" he continued. "Was he _lying_? Did he really _not _want his kids?"

Emma wondered if there came a time in _every _mother's life when she wished – just for a moment – that her kid wasn'tso smart. For Henry had zeroed in on _exactly_ what had distressed her so much at Tillman's house in the first place. _How _could she have missed it? How did she get it all _that _wrong?

Henry watched anxiously as his mother sorted through his latest stroke of genius. He could tell the gears in her head were turning, and it was a good thing too…cuz Operation Cobra was getting to be _exhausting_. "Well?" he said, unable to suppress a grin.

It was tempting, Emma thought, staring into the hopeful eyes of her ten-year-old. _Damn _it was tempting. Playing a little more "Operation Cobra" sure beat sitting around the station all day fighting back tears and wallowing in grief. Besides, she thought mournfully, she already may have irrevocably damaged her relationship with Mary Margaret. She would not let her anger and self-pity destroy what she had with her son. Sighing in defeat, she pushed herself off the edge of the desk and held her hands up in surrender. "All right, Kid," she said. "Let's go take another look at that note."

…

"Well?" James said impatiently, drumming his fingers on the countertop.

Thomas stared up at the ceiling while his eyebrows darted down, trying unsuccessfully to ignore his friend's irritation at how long it was taking for the internet to boot up. "It's still repairing the connection," he said sharply.

James huffed, crossing his arms. "Didn't Marco check the inbox this morning with no problems? I thought you said this _internet _thing was supposed to be fast."

"It is," Thomas held his hands up and shrugged. "Just…not when your router is a piece of—"

"Sean?" they heard suddenly and both princes jumped to their feet from their stools. They'd been staring over one another's shoulders for the last half hour trying to coax Marco's slower-than-molasses internet explorer to find _any _information about foster care in Boston. With Marco there all day, it was difficult for the two of them to display much more than detached sympathy for Michael Tillman's alleged out-of-town emergency. Once he'd left for the day, the two of them theorized rapidly on what or who might have truly been responsible. James had a meeting with Snow tonight, and if at all possible, he wanted to provide her with _some _information she could take back to their daughter. It might not be much, but it was tearing James apart knowing that Emma was out there somewhere, probably heartbroken at the thought of two orphans being abandoned by their father…especially (he'd been unable to avoid noting) with her own troubled past.

"Ashley!" Sean said in surprise as Ella walked towards them. He checked his watch. "What're you doing here? Where's Alex?"

Ashley marched straight up to the counter as Sean came around to meet her. "With Granny," she said with a curt nod. "And my shift's not over quite yet, but I need to talk to you."

Thomas's eyebrows flew up and he glanced at James – who was rather annoyingly suppressing a smirk. This certainly wasn't the mousy blonde Snow had described (a sight James was quite delighted to see). Still, the young princess looked quite perturbed…and James couldn't help but snigger at the younger prince who looked more the part of boy-in-trouble than young-man-in-love.

"Ok?" Thomas treaded carefully. Ella at that moment seemed to notice James for the first time, for she retreated back a bit, blushing as she adjusted the strap of her purse. "Oh sorry," Thomas placed his hand on Ella's shoulder and guided her a step toward the counter. "Ash, this is David Nolan. Marco hired him yesterday. David? My fiancée, Ashley."

James gave the girl a warm, genuine smile, surprised by just how _good _it was to see her…to see them together. "Hi Ashley," he said, making a slight bow.

Something in the man's smile seemed…familiar to her. And for a moment, she stared at him wonderingly, trying to think on where she'd seen him before. "Nice…to meet you," she said warily, peering into his crystal blue eyes. Surely she'd not forget a face like that. Then it hit her, and realization dawned. "Oh!" she exclaimed, a brightness in her eyes as she pointed at him. "I read about you in the paper didn't I?"

James sighed heavily, careful not to roll his eyes. "Yeah," he nodded, ignoring Thomas's coughing chuckle. "Yeah, that was me."

Ashley sensed the unintended faux pas and blushed again. "Sorry," she said. "You probably hear that a lot."

But James shook his head and waved her off. "Don't give it another thought," he said and smiled again.

She nodded. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said with a grin. "Much better now that I have your charming fiancée here to work with."

At that moment, Ashley turned sharply back to Sean and cocked an eyebrow. "Oh yes," she said sweetly, though there was a little bite to her tone. "He's quite charming." She turned her attention fully on her beau. "I need to talk to you," she mumbled and moved past him toward the fix-it bench at the far end of the shop.

Thomas watched a little dumfounded as Ella walked by.

"One of these days—" James muttered; Thomas turned— "I'm gonna meet someone in Storybrooke who _hasn't _seen me in the paper."

Thomas snorted, "Can you blame 'em?" he muttered back. "28 years and there's only _been_ onestory—"

"Sean!"

"Coming!" Thomas jumped again and dismissed James's continued chuckling as he went to face the music. "What is it?" he asked when he reached her. "Is something wrong?"

Ashley's hands settled at her waist as she rested her weight on one hip. "Is it true you gave up a _full ride _to Fort Kent?"

Thomas's eyes flew wide open. "What?"

"Is it?"

"Who told you that?" he spluttered.

"Is that a yes?"

"Well it's—" he brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowed. "It's not a _no_—"

"A _full ride _Sean?" Ashley countered, crossing her arms. "If it's _true, _what is it _matter_ who told me?"

"Ashley—"

"Why didn't you _tell _me?"

"Honestly?" Thomas stammered as he struggled to recall memories he hadn't cared or thought about in weeks. "It…slipped my mind."

Ashley let out a sort of half-laugh half-scoff as she brought the heels of her palms up to her temples and shook her head. "Seventy-five _thousand _dollars, Sean. Seventy-five _thousand_, tuition and board…for _four _years! How could you let that 'slip your mind'?"

"It wasn't important—"

"_Wa-ah-asn't_ important?" she gasped in disbelief. "You had a slot in their business administration program—"

"I know but—"

"I would've supported you. We could've gone _with_ you—"

"I _know_ that—" Thomas tried to reach for her.

But she clutched tightly to her purse and gestured toward the front counter. "Seventy-five-thou—I mean, come _on_, Sean, do you want to be fixing cars the rest of your life?"

"Hey!" Thomas finally shouted, hoping to at _least_ finish a sentence. "A man can't do much better for himself than to work for Marco Collodi."

The acknowledgment of Sean's boss, a man she so respected, tempered Ashley for a moment and she sank back on her heels. "I know but—"

"No listen," he clasped her hand before she had time to put her guard up again. "I'm. Happy. _Here_," he said, refusing to let her drop his gaze. "I _told _you that before. Did you believe me?"

"Yes," she conceded.

"Then believe me _now_. It _wasn't _important. Everything that's important to me is right _here_," he said, reaching out to gently touch the tip of her nose. "You," he whispered, cupping her cheek, "and Alexandra. And that's it. All that other stuff? Tuition? Room and board? Business degrees? That was all part of the life my _father _wanted me to lead." He paused and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, whispering against her temple. "A life that didn't include _you_."

Ashley glanced up at him, a thoughtful frown tugging at her mouth, but she didn't argue. She swallowed hard, closing her hand around his wrist as he looked down at her once more and caressed her cheek. "Are you absolutely _sure _you have _no _interest in Fort Kent?"

Thomas shook his head, slipping his free arm under hers and around her waist. "I'm _sure_."

She shifted his grasp, pulling both of his arms down around her waist and settling her hands at each elbow. "And you _swear _you won't wake up one morning wishing you'd taken the money? Gone to school?"

Thomas struggled to suppress a proud smile tickling his lips as he nodded. "I swear."

Ashley studied him a moment longer and then let out a satisfied sigh, though still maintaining a firmness in her hold as she gave his arms a squeeze. "Don't ever _keep_ anything like that from me again, Sean Herman."

There was a healthy blush in her cheeks as she issued her reprimand, but Thomas also knew she was quite serious. A lesser man in his world might have taken offense to such admonishment from his bride, but Thomas was positively beaming. After weeks of seeing her cower and shrink from even the tamest of squabbles, he couldn't help but delight in the joy of seeing all the spirit and strength of his Ella gleaming through Ashley's eyes. "Yes ma'am," he whispered. And he meant it.

Swooning suddenly from the passion in his gaze, Ashley faltered on her footing a bit and stepped back. "Good," she nodded tersely, though she too was grinning. "Well, I should…I should get back to the diner."

She started to move past him, but at the last moment he grabbed her arm, yanked her back and caught her face in his hands as she stumbled back into his embrace. His mouth covered hers at once, warm and pliant, giving and taking, as she scrunched her fists in his teeshirt and pulled him in deeper.

They might have stayed locked in this embrace for days had Ashley not suddenly remembered that…well, they weren't alone. Completely mortified, she tore away from her fiancée and glanced up at the counter where David Nolan was focusing _intensely_ on the computer monitor. "S-sorry," she stammered, her cheeks red-hot with embarrassment. But David was already shaking his head and chuckling, as was Sean who draped his arm casually around his fiancée's shoulder and pulled her into a comforting hug.

"Don't worry about it," James said, having really not seen much. He'd disappeared into Marco's office for a while and had only come out…well…at the very end. He hadn't _heard _much of anything either, but what he could see of the young woman's face continued to relieve his concerns about Thomas's bride. She was so much closer to Ella now than Ashley. He couldn't wait to tell Snow—Snow…

"Yeah, David's a big boy," Thomas teased as he walked Ella back over to the counter. He was about to make another quip at his friend's expense but noted the sudden regret in his eyes. "Hey," he softened. "You all right?"

James looked up from the monitor and beheld the couple so very much in love. It was a victory for the side of good in Storybrooke that Prince Thomas and his "Cinderella" were together again, and he wanted so much to simply be _happy _for his friend. But a modicum of envy couldn't help but creep its way into his mind. After all, though she was not technically awake and he wasn't technically married… Thomas and Ella would go home together.

"I'm fine," he said with a smile, looking up at the clock above Collodi's storefront windows as the orange sun began its decent toward the horizon line. He felt Thomas's hand on his shoulder and looked back to the prince who gave him a questioning glare. "Really," he assured his friend, rising from the stool and grabbing his coat from the counter behind them. "There's just…somewhere I need to be."

Thomas also looked to the clock and nodded, finally understanding. And he tightened his arms around Ella as he watched James walk out into the dusk…headed for the toll bridge.

…

***** OK! 9,000 words later, and we're finally at the scene that's been buzzing in my head for weeks. Whew! Hope you enjoyed this one (decidedly "lighter" than the last few chapters I think, though not without its drama, I grant you). I wanted to give a shout out to not only my regulars who have been with "Toll Bridge" from the start but to all the newcomers as well! So glad you're enjoying and fav-ing and alert-ing and reviewing! Hope to get another chapter out soon, though this is IT before Sunday.**

**Stay tuned! (Hey…does anyone ELSE think that August W. Booth is Pinocchio?)*****


	19. Rendezvous

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Rendezvous**

Emma foraged and ravaged her way through the woods, cursing the sheer volume of trees left and right that seemed to be mocking her quest as she sank further and further into the thicket. She'd been here before of course – once back when they'd first _found _David and once earlier today. But she was more determined than ever now. Now, after having been to Collodi's. Now, after hearing Kathryn's miserable admission. David and Mary had much to answer for and though she knew she should let the matter drop – people's affairs were _their _business after all – Emma couldn't help herself. With so much strange shit going on, she vowed to get to the bottom of at least _one_ of them!

"Is it really that bad?" she heard in the distance. Instantly, she slowed, tip toeing the rest of the way.

"Worse," came the reply. "She's completely cut herself off again. Yesterday I had her _reading _the book with Henry. Actually _considering_ the possibility of a connection."

"And today she's—"

"_Gone_…In every way possible. She's just…lost." Emma drew a sharp breath as the voices materialized into soft figures beyond the trees. There they were – David and Mary Margaret…and they were talking about _her!_ Knowing how acute David's senses were, she was as quiet as a mouse, scaling the small hill over which the two figures were standing right beneath the toll bridge. She could make them out clearly now and her heart was pounding out of her chest as David answered.

"Then we don't _coax _Emma back," he said. Emma swallowed hard hearing her name; there now – it was confirmed.

"We don't?" asked Mary Margaret. It sounded like she was sniffling.

"No," David replied and she watched him tuck a tendril of ebony hair back beneath Mary's hat. "We just _tell _her."

She could stand it no longer. Wrenching herself out of her stealthy crouch, Emma practically leapt from the trees into view of the startled couple and demanded, "Tell me what?"

…

-**SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER-**

Emma wasn't entirely sure whether she was relieved or disappointed to arrive back at the house and find Mary Margaret not there. The more she thought on her behavior, the more guilty she felt having lashed out, but she didn't know if she was quite ready to own up to it yet. So when she and Henry arrived at the house to search for "clues" about Michael Tillman's whereabouts, it was with a degree of anxiety that she set about giving the place a once-over. She was, after all, living here out of the kindness of the young teacher's heart. Was it even right for her to search the place now like a cop, after having acted so horribly?

Henry was determined though, and there was no arguing with him. The instant Emma opened the door, he'd rushed inside, intent on finding the note Michael left behind. During the drive over, he'd postulated any number of fanciful ideas, among them the notion that Michael had been somehow kidnapped by one of the "queen's" guards and taken somewhere so that it would look like he'd abandoned his children right in their moment of need. Listening to her son spinning tales, she had to admit it sure sounded like a fantastic adventure. If only it were true.

"Anything?" Henry asked, running in on Emma just as she finished checking under the couch.

"Nope," she said, her voice strained as she slid out from underneath it and came to settle on her knees. "Like I said, I tossed it aside. Guess I threw it away."

Henry's mouth curled into a half frown as he crossed his arms and shook his head. "It happened this _morning_," he said, exasperated. "Even if you _had_ thrown it away it'd still be here somewhere. And I've checked all the garbage cans."

"Ew, Henry—" Emma glanced up at him pulling a sour face, but Henry wasn't paying attention.

"Let's check Miss Blanchard's alcove," he said, already heading over to Mary Margaret's bed.

"Now _why _would it be over there?" Emma braced her hand against the armrest of the couch and hoisted herself up, dragging her feet over to her roommate's living space. "Henry, we weren't anywhere _near _there when we talked. Why would Mary Margaret—"

"Maybe she kept it!" Henry's muffled voice came from under the bed for he'd already dived down to look. "Probably knew you'd come back and need to talk more and—"

"Henry," Emma whined, leaning up against the archway that led into the alcove. She looked down and couldn't help snickering at the sight of her son's legs and tennis shoes sticking out from under the bed, kicking back and forth like he was learning to swim. "Come on out of there. We've got no right to—"

"Ah HA!" came the boy's triumphant voice and Emma heard the crumpling of paper as he slid out from under the bed. "Got it!" he said, emerging from beneath the frame with the note in hand.

Emma stared for a minute, blinking back to the moment she'd first found it at Michael's house. Her stomach churned as the faces of the Zimmer children flashed in her mind, but she shook her head, determined not to let her anger towards the man affect her so cruelly again. "Great," she said, crossing one ankle over the other. "Now what?"

Henry took the note and started unfolding it, smoothing out the wrinkles in each crease. He worked methodically, as if handling evidence, and Emma was so amused by her son's "Cobra-ness" that it took her a few moments to realize – she'd never _folded_ up that note. "_Now,_" Henry was saying, "we go back to Mr. Tillman's and find some of _his _handwriting and—" he froze, staring at the paper now unfolded before him…and Emma actually _heard _him gulp.

"What?" Emma straightened up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Henry said sharply, yanking his hands down at his sides (though not dumb enough, he thought, to try to hide it behind his back). "It's just uh…it's not…this isn't the note."

He started to move past her, aiming for the kitchen but his mom's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Hold it right _there _kid," she said in the best 'Cops and Robbers' voice she could manage, trying to coax out of him what he'd _really _just seen. Henry turned around slowly, looking a little green. "What isit?" she asked.

"It's uh…" Henry bit his lip. This was _not _good. Definitely not good. Why hadn't he _checked _it first before announcing that he'd found it! Stupid rookie mistake…one that Pops wouldn't have made…Pops…boy, he was gonna be so mad…

"Henry!" Emma repeated and held out her palm.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Henry saw that he had no choice. For he knew that the panic in his face upon reading what he'd _actually _found was far too obvious to be missed by Emma's superpower. Reluctantly, he handed it over and took a deep breath as Emma started to read:

_**Dearest Snow…**_

Emma's throat went dry…

_**I'm afraid I must make this short as it is already 2 in the morning and I've only just arrived at David's home. I must also confess I am growing more and more wary of the queen's eyes and ears about town. I believe I may have been reckless tonight in staying so long at the establishment I mentioned I would visit after Regina's dinner. But I suspect you will hardly blame me when you learn what I know. It's Thomas, Snow. He's awake!...**_

She swallowed hard, her face flushed as she continued on…

… _**if you are able, meet me Sunday night at our spot. I will wait for you regardless but do not send a reply…**_

Sunday night? As in _today?_ She skimmed down the page:

_**Yours forever,**_

_**James…**_

Her brain felt like a balloon someone was pumping full of water, stretching the bounds and limits of information she could process at one time well beyond capacity. Dearest _Snow_? David's home? Regina's dinner? And who the hell was Thomas? Of course, rationally, Emma knew _exactly _what this note implied about David and Mary Margaret. She ran her eyes up and down the page, trying to find any hint of sarcasm, teasing or pretense. But there was none.

"Emma?" Henry said tentatively, unsure of what to do since his mom seemed to be totally in shock. "Emma?" he tried again, tugging on her jacket.

Emma jerked back, crushing the note a bit as she clenched it in her fists. "Henry," she said, still staring at the cursive script in her hands. "I think you better go home …there's something I gotta do."

…

Snow didn't know where or how long she had been wandering, but she suspected she was now somewhere close to the farthest reaches of West End. After spending the morning meandering the aisles and shelves of Storybrooke's public library (a place she was rather discouraged to find empty save for the little old librarian she did not recognize), Snow had taken a late lunch at Tony's Deli. The gentleman behind the counter was also not familiar to her, nor was she at all interested in discerning who he might have _been_. For unlike the previous day's excursion, she had no lofty aspirations to find more of her subjects, discover old friends or sort out how and when they might put more cracks in the curse. Following Emma's vehement exit that morning, Snow just…wantedto get out of the house.

_Your long lost daughter, Mary Margaret. That's who he thinks I am!_

Snow had imagined time and again how she and James might eventually broach the subject with their daughter…

_And of course we know who he thinks Prince Charming is!_

It was never going to be easy but…

_I mean, come on, have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?_

In the past few days, she'd had great hope that Emma might truly be opening up. That her daughter may eventually get to the point where she not only _could _believe…but actually _wanted _to…

_I had a little faith before…faith in something _completely_ absurd – and Ava and Nicolas paid the price._

This morning had cast an ominous shadow over all her hopes – so much progress, so much potential…gone in an instant, and the worst part was…she really couldn't blame Emma at all.

_We have to believe she'll come back for us…we have to give her her best chance…_

Rationally, Snow knew that had they not sent their daughter through, it would have been worse for them all – _including _Emma. She would have remained a baby for 28 years, perhaps in some orphanage, or raised by another set of parents…or worse: killed during the queen's siege. But _awareness_ of these alternatives didn't lessen the pain, guilt or heartache Snow felt as she walked the streets of Storybrooke.

_Goodbye Emma…_A single tear trickled down her cheek as she thought again of the last moment she saw her sweet baby girl before her happy ending was ripped away and her whole world came tumbling down around her. In a way, she was glad James had been unconscious at the time, saved from having to witness the annihilation of their summer palace – their only true home.

Shivering in the cold December air, Snow tightened the collar of her heavy white coat around her neck and pushed against the wind, heading past the very edge of the town. Following the discouraging events of the past few days, there was little else to look forward to save for her evening rendezvous with James. And even _that _impending visit was now tainted by all that she knew she would have to reveal: their daughter's damaged heart, her regression (not to _mention _what she'd also learned about Belle, Gaston, Maurice, Happy)… all bad news. How exactly had things gotten to this point, she wondered. How when just _three _days ago, standing beneath the toll bridge with her beloved in her arms, the world held such promise?

Approaching the toll bridge now, she knew she would be a little early, but she didn't mind. She liked the cold (and the coats of this world were decidedly more insulated than the cloaks of days past). Slowly, she walked the familiar paths of the forest, foraging through thick brushes and pines that assailed her nostrils with the sweet scents of winter. Drawing further and further away from the town, she felt her spirits lighten a bit and allowed her mind to drift back to some of her more pleasant excursions in these woods: the afternoon she'd met Ella by the wishing well, the day she'd told James she was pregnant with Emma, finding her prince again despite all the toils and troubles they'd had to face…but nostalgia soon surrendered to regret and even the fresh and crisp wintery air that foretold of the first snow upon them wasn't enough to keep out the darker memories. For these were also the same paths she'd walked as a fugitive, the roads she'd traversed when evading…or hunting her stepmother. And then of course, there was that horrible day she left her father's palace, escorted by the huntsman whose mission it was to cut out her heart and feed it to the queen. She shuddered, remembering the moments she and Graham shared before that terrifying chase – that glorious spring day which seemed to mock them both – the trek neither of them wanted to take and only the huntsman's generous compassion prevented from ending tragically. "Graham" she whispered aloud, wondering what had become of her friend to whom she owed so much. Where was he now? Had he somehow escaped Storybrooke and actually _succeeded _in driving the children to Boston? She doubted it, but perhaps it was more important to Regina to have the children _gone _than maintain them as prisoners—

The tiniest of squeaks startled her from her reflections and she glanced down at a smooth, flat sandstone surrounded by a tiny pond. She recognized this spot. It was the glade where the huntsman found her as she composed her dying wishes for the queen. Twittering on the stone now…was her tiny blue friend.

"Lucy!" Snow exclaimed, crouching down and extending her gloved index finger as a perch. "It's freezing out here, what are you doing?"

The bird flapped its wings furiously as it ignored Snow's finger and hopped onto a dry reed hanging out over the pond's edge. Snow watched as its tiny claws closed around the reed and it continued the chirp incessantly at its mistress.

"What, this?" she asked, taking the reed in her hands, which was so dried out and brittle, it snapped right off. "Why do you think—"

But as Lucy jerked her tiny head around, seeing the reed now firmly grasped in Snow's hands, it chirped excitedly and whistled right up to her shoulder. Snow drew back as it perched near her neck and she strained to see the little puff of cerulean feathers. "It's dead, little one. Dried up and cracked. How am I—"

Again, Lucy objected incessantly and hopped up and down on her coat until Snow finally huffed in frustration. "All right all right, fine!" she said. She held the reed to her lips, as her little friend instructed, and blew hard on one end, producing a soft, barely perceptible whistle from its uniquely placed holes. At once, Lucy relaxed, her chirping ceased, and the two waited, eerily silent amidst the soft blows of the wind.

With a frown, Snow turned to her feathered friend. "See?" she said, "Nothing." But right then, their attention turned to a rustling of bushes about 10 feet beyond the glade. It originated from a less travelled path, _far_ less travelled than those she'd walked recently. An elaborate canopy of trees blanketed the path to where it seemed all sunlight had disappeared, but as the sun was setting anyway (and Snow was hardly unused to traversing the woods at night), this did not alarm her. With one more glance at Lucy (who was looking rather annoyingly smug now), Snow walked toward the path and over to the rustling bushes, out of which jumped a tiny, gray rabbit. Snow started, afraid of stepping on the poor thing's cotton tail because it had landed right at her muddied boots. "I'm so sorry, little one," she cooed. The rabbit twitched its whiskers back and forth, studying her intently. It noticed Lucy perched on her shoulder and nodded in approval. Then without warning, it thumped its feet against the dirt road, spun on its heels and scampered down the path, racing away from a stunned Snow White before she took off after it, submitting to this strange quest which Lucy so clearly wanted her to complete. She huffed and panted, trying to keep the bundle of gray fur in sight as the moved deeper and deeper into the woods, shrouded by pines and oaks. Soon the ground became soggy and her boots sank into the mud, slowing her progress. She grew nervous, thinking she would lose sight of the rabbit when suddenly, it scampered up onto a fallen trunk and stopped.

Snow staggered forward, finally reaching the log as the animal gave her a questioning glare. It wiggled its whiskers again and tilted its head to one side, eyeing her incredulously. Snow cocked an eyebrow as she finally reached the tree, brought her hand to her hip and glared back. "Well I can only _go _so fast, friend. No need to get cocky."

The rabbit thumped its feet up and down again, shook his tail and hopped about 8 feet beyond the trunk. "Hey!" Snow cried, for it would take time to scale the fallen tree. But the rabbit zoomed out of view and out of sight before she'd even braced one foot atop the bark. Annoyed, she glared down at Lucy who still perched patiently on her shoulder. "Well what was the point of _that_?" she cried, and no sooner had she said it, than they heard another rustling of branches from where the rabbit had disappeared. Snow held her breath and placed her hands on the trunk, the dampness of the bark seeping into her gloves as she waited. In moments, a sturdy figure pranced out of the brush and Snow gasped as a beautiful stag stepped toward her. His brown eyes were bright and wide and staring at her with thoughtful wonderment as he cantered toward her, his antlers stretched proudly above his head in perfect symmetry. With reverence, he bowed his head toward Snow, the reach of his antlers extending over the fallen trunk. Snow gaped at the gesture, for deer were among the noblest, most regal creatures – and a stag's antlers, his pride and joy. To offer them to her now in this manner was indeed an honor, and one that Snow did not squander as she gratefully grasped the strong, firm horns and pulled against them to help hoist her over the trunk. Once clear of the blockage, the stag pulled back from her, gave her a silent nod, and continued down the path, beckoning her to follow.

Snow stayed close to the stag, holding to his pelt for comfort as much as guidance, for as they went further into the woods, the path disappeared and all that was left beneath her was the soft crunch of dead leaves blanketing a thicket of swampy muck. The stag did not rush though, for he understood more than the rabbit the differences between their kinds. With patience and strength, he led Snow further into darkness until they arrived at a wall of red rock, stretching up a steep incline. In the middle of the wall drooped a dense curtain of vines. The stag stopped and turned to her, bowing his head once more. Snow returned the gesture with gratitude as he galloped away. This time, she did not follow, nor did she question, for the longer she was with the animals, the more she could intuit their behavior. This was as far as the stag could take her. So she waited patiently, and soon her next escort revealed himself…in the form of the Graham's wolf.

Her gaze wrenched up toward the incline as soon as she sensed him coming. He looked just as he did that night, his one eye red and glowing, the other a greyish silver, boring into her soul. He was scaling down the rock, his paws soft upon the rough edges, and Snow gasped as he took a final leap – a 10 foot drop – and landed gracefully at her feet. She gulped, for the beast was more massive than he'd appeared when Snow had spotted him behind Graham in the street. She was not afraid though, and reached out to stroke the snowy-grey fur up his back. Beneath her touch, she felt the tension ease a bit from the wolf's shoulder blades, and he whimpered in gratitude as she massaged the fur behind his ears. Had he been a cat, he would have purred, and he turned to give Snow's hand an affectionate lick before straightening up, shaking himself out and taking her through the vines.

Snow held tightly to the tufts of fur she now grasped behind his neck as the wolf led her into a deep cave, plunging them into darkness. She could hear the vague rumble of rushing water, sounding more and more like an underground waterfall as they moved onward.. The rumbling echoed against the damp cavern walls which told Snow the cave was vast and probably stretched a good quarter of a league in all directions. But with little light, save for the red glow of the wolf's eye, she dared not venture off and explore. They were turning now, and she could feel Lucy's little legs pacing happily atop her shoulder, affectionately nipping at her cheek as they descended what felt like a set of stone steps. It was a circular decline and when they came to the base, Snow felt strangely turned around, as if she were now heading back _underneath_ the same ground she'd covered with the rabbit and the deer. The wolf pressed on and she continued to clump fists of his fur in her grasp. She was beginning to think there was no end to the darkness as she could barely see her hand in front of her face, when at last, he came to a stop and turned to her, his ruby gaze as bright as a lantern. Then, just like the stag, he bowed his head and blinked out of sight. She was left alone in darkness at what seemed to be the base of the cave. She peeled off her hat and other glove and carefully drew her hand along the damp, jagged edges of the cavern wall, feeling for some kind of opening or hatch – some indication of _why _the animals had brought her here. A sharp bit of stone nicked her finger and she winced, bringing it to her lips and sucking on the small cut she was sure must be bleeding. Hissing at the pain, she shook out her hand and suddenly - _*thwack*_; she smacked her hand against something hard and wooden. She jumped back for it sounded hollow, like a door. Immediately, she tore off her other glove, placed both palms straight out in front of her and felt its surface. It was smooth and sanded down, with decorative carvings and intricate crevices that felt…vaguely familiar. As a pianist's remembering how to play an old tune, her hands drifted down to the left – and there it was: The iron latch.

Snow's heart was pounding, steeling herself against the possibility that she might be wrong, for if she were, it would be devastating. With a sharp tug, she pulled up on the latch, listened to it click on the other side and then pushed the door open. Blue light spilled into the cavern as the door squeaked open, and – though it was still quite dim, with only the gentlest glow shining in from the windows at the far end of the room, the truth…was unmistakable.

The cottage.

The dwarfs' cottage.

Her home when she'd had none…

Her refuge…

Her sanctuary.

Within these familiar walls, she and seven unlikely friends had formed bonds closer than those bound dutifully by blood. They were her comrades, her counselors, her brothers. And being here now, seeing the place where they had so often played music and sang and danced and cooked and feasted…it filled her heart with the most unfathomable joy, the likes of which she hadn't thought possible just a few short hours ago.

Laughing, gasping, sobbing, she stumbled into the great room, jaw dropped and eyes drenched with tears. It was here. It was all still here! How was that possible when she'd seen her own palace, a structure of solid stone had crumbled down around her? How when all other evidence of their world had been ripped away save for a few lingering trinkets in Mr. Gold's pawn shop? But it couldn't be denied: the cabin looked just as it had when last she'd left it – the long table still stretched halfway out of the dining room and into the kitchen; and there were the picnic benches, which _never_ had enough room for all of them to sit and eat together, though that never mattered. _Snow, you must join us!...That's ok Doc, I'll eat when you're all through…Nonsense, we will eat and be merry together or not at all! _In the far corner was a washstand. _Whadya doin' Snow?...Washing your tunic Grumpy…What for?_ Through a wide open archway lay their beds all lined up in a row. _Snow? (her old friend said with a yawn)…Yes Sleepy?...I'm glad you came back._

With the happiest of chirps, Lucy flew off Snow's shoulder and zoomed around the room, quite pleased with herself and her fellow animals. Graciously, she allowed her little friend a few victory laps around the place before she whistled her back. She held out her index finger which, this time, Lucy accepted as a perch. She regretted having to turn around and ask another favor after showing her so much already, but it couldn't be helped. "Go to the toll bridge," she whispered. "Please?" Lucy chirped in assent and fluttered away, seeming not at all put off by the request (for which Snow was infinitely thankful).

She resumed her walk of the familiar floors, reacquainting herself with the place like it was an old friend. To the right of the door, past a light white canopy was Snow's "room", and though it had hardly afforded her the same degree of comfort or privacy as her chambers in her father's palace, she had felt more at home within these old cottage walls than she ever had under the same roof as her step mother. The dwarfs had generously crafted a bed of cherry wood sized just for her, which still stood perfectly preserved as if she had just smoothed down fresh sheets this morning. Glancing up, she thought fondly of Sneezy who often braved his allergies in order to pick her fresh flowers to place on the small window sill above the headboard. Back then of course, when the sun shone through just right, the whole area lit up like a breezy summer's retreat. Now, hidden and buried beneath Storybrooke, she saw only rock and granite beyond that window, clearly an extension of this massive cavern. The dim blue lighting that illuminated the place, casting strange shadows on this once bright and colorful abode, shone through the windows now like moonlight from a cloudless sky. She could also hear the waterfall more clearly, rumbling beyond the far walls of the cottage, and briefly she wondered just how vast the cave was – how many passages, how many lost treasures they might find in its depths. But the cottage was treasure enough for now; in fact, she didn't see how she was going to tear herself away when it came time to return to 'Mary Margaret's'.

For a few minutes, she simply savored it, breathing in the air of the place as she strolled between the solid wooden pillars and open rooms like she was touring a museum. But soon, seeing everything so dark and empty grated on her and she set about brightening up the place. She rushed to the kitchen with an energy and sense of purpose she hadn't felt since she'd started those brownies last night. The cupboards were still stocked full of supplies, just as they'd left it when they came to live in the castle. In minutes, she'd pulled muslin coverings from much of the remaining furniture (save for the mirror) and had foraged through the cabinets for candles. One of the things about the cottage that she'd always loved was the magnificent candle-lit chandelier that hung over the main sitting room. A series of 3 iron rings, cascading down in concentric circles with settings for over 48 miners' candles hung from the ceiling. In minutes, she'd scraped together a small fire over the old hearth and went about lighting the candles, each one adding not only light but the sense of warmth and coziness the place deserved. She had just finished lighting the final wick, stepping down off the table top and blowing out her taper when she heard sounds of chirping echoing from the cavern entrance…followed by footsteps.

Lucy zoomed inside looking quite triumphant, circled one lap around the room and then flew out again. Snow held her breath as the twittering faded and the footsteps drew closer, and soon…he called her name.

"Snow?" she heard him holler just before he ran in the room. And there was her prince, standing in the doorway.

"James," she cried breathlessly as her husband gaped around at the unbelievable sight before him.

The cottage, he thought. The dwarfs' cottage, perfectly preserved under Storybrooke's forest. Lit aglow from what looked to be a hundred candles, it was a sharp contrast to the cold December trek he'd just taken, racing through the woods as he strove to keep up with Lucy. His journey assigned new meaning to Jiminy's adage about light at the tunnel's end. For not only was the cottage itself illuminated in spectacular firelight…but there she was – standing in the middle of it as ethereal as an angel and beaming from within. As if to hold that glow inside, protect it from the cold of their cursed world, James kicked the door shut behind him.

Her breath caught in her throat as it slammed shut, and Snow choked back tears. "Look what I found," she whispered through a tender laugh, her voice breaking.

In two giant strides, James was across the room, catching her up in his arms and lifting her so high off the ground she could almost touch the ceiling. Laughing through bleary eyes, James swung her around, his arms firmly wrapped around her waist as he let the spirit of the place envelop him in memories and familiarity. Snow was the one of course who had actually lived here, but the whole place smelled, looked and felt like _her_ – felt like _their _world. And with both of them bearing such heavy burdens and disturbing news, standing here now – reunited in a place symbolic of everything they'd been working to achieve – unlocked a passion inside that could only ever be ignited by two lovers who shared the same heart and soul.

In moments, his laughter subsided as he slowed down and gazed up into her eyes. Her hands were braced on his shoulders while she stared down at him, breathless and wanting. Holding that gaze, he arched back, and she started to sink down towards him, sliding down his chest as he tightened his grip on her waist. Smiling, she snaked her hands down around his neck as he brought her closer to him. Unable to wait any longer, she ran her fingers through his hair, pulled his mouth up to hers and claimed him at last with a kiss.

James sucked in a breath and groaned, wasting no time as he cradled her to him, keeping one arm locked around her waist and bringing his other hand up to palm the back of her head. She gasped as his tongue darted into her mouth, delving hot and deep like a man starved. To claim her like this at last was a dream he'd hardly let himself indulge in. Though it had only been a few days since their Friday morning tryst at the bridge, it felt an age since he'd savored the taste of her lips. Being away from her had been torture; reunited now – pure heaven. And as Snow had already similarly lamented, he didn't know _how _in the world he could ever go back to 'David's' home.

Still hovering a few feet off the ground, Snow took advantage of having the upper hand and pulled back, teasing him with quick smacking kisses between labored breaths, barely allowing each to last before pulling away and grinning. With a grunt, James plopped her down on her feet and slipped his hands inside the folds of her coat, shrugging it off her shoulders. The coat pooled around her ankles as Snow reached up and divested him of his jacket. Free of the bulk between them, James pulled her back into his embrace, cupping her cheeks between his palms and resuming the kiss with slow, lazy sips.

Snow ran her hands up his chest, settling them over his heart as she allowed his ardor to drive away all remaining thoughts of the curse, her daughter's doubts, their troubled friends…Those things would come. There was much to be said…but none of it needed to be said right now. And her husband _clearly _agreed, for when he finally came up for air and pulled back, the heat in his gaze said more than words ever could.

James's envy of Thomas earlier that evening had all but evaporated with Snow back in his arms. With infinite tenderness, he grazed the backs of his hands all the way down her arms and laced his fingers through her own, beckoning her toward the canopied space in the corner. She nodded, following him without hesitation as he backed them both into the room where Snow had spent so many countless nights dreaming of him. Slipping behind the canopy, James felt his calves collide with the hard wood of the bed frame, his thighs bumping into the mattress behind him. His eyes still locked with hers, he sank down to the bed and pulled her to him so that she was standing between his legs.

"Snow," he rasped, tracing his hands up the thin denim leggings covering her thighs and coming to rest just underneath the hem of her sweater. She jerked at his touch, his fingers hot and ticklish upon her bare skin, and she practically had to remind herself to breathe as he leaned in and sought out the sensitive spot on her neck right below her ear. Shards of pleasure streaked through her core as he ran hot, open-mouthed kisses along her throat. Straining her head to one side, she bared her neck completely, begging for more as he lapped trails of fire along her silken skin.

Her eyes slid shut and she curled her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as he continued to nip and lick down one side of her neck, sipping tenderly at the hollow of her throat, and then trailed back up the other side. "Snow?" he murmured again, the low rumble of his voice against her throat washing over her like waves of melted butter.

"Hmm?" she moaned, as she clenched his hair tightly in her fists, holding onto him as if to prove he was real…that _this _was real.

He pulled back and steadied her, waiting for her to open her eyes as he brushed the pads of his thumbs across her midriff. She gasped again at his touch and her eyes flew open. "If you're gonna want to stop…" he whispered hoarsely, demanding just this last tiny bit of focus from her, "…you better tell me now."

Snow paused, staring almost in disbelief. _Stop? _she thought, rather amused. No word could be further from her mind, and her lips curled into a wicked smile. Without bothering to reply, she dropped her hands down along his arms and closed her fingers around his wrists beneath her sweater. James went rigid as she slowly guided his hands up her sides, grinning down at him with fire in her eyes. Any restraint he might still have had vanished as he followed her lead and peeled the sweater up over her head, then stripped off his own tee-shirt and tossed it aside. Seizing her by the arms, he yanked her up, helping her crawl over his lap to straddle him; her knees sank deep into the mattress on either side of his thighs. Tightening his grip, he crushed her to him, desperate for the feel of her skin against his, and she nearly came apart inside as he kissed and nuzzled his way down to the valley between her breasts. His hands, warm and possessive, stroked underneath her arms and to her back, smoothing up over her shoulders, the strap of her bra the only thing left between them as he caressed her back.

His fingers traced up and down her spine and found the clasp, but when he got there, he paused – quite shocked suddenly that there were no ties, strings or laces to deal with as he'd been previously used to. Just one – no, _two_ hooks. It _can't _be that easy, he thought. And despite the intensity of their embrace, despite the nearly three decades of repressed passion and longing…James started to chuckle. "Umm…Snow?" he murmured against her cheek and he felt her panting ease as she pulled back, perplexed. He leaned backwards, resting the heels of his palms on the mattress behind him and looked up at her. "I'm certainly not a _fan_ of this world," he quipped with a playful grin, running an appraising look over the lacy garment, "but I gotta say I'm loving the new corsets."

Snow stared at him dumbfounded, and for a second, she hadn't the slightest clue what he was talking about. But following his gaze, she looked down…and rolled her eyes. _Corsets, _she thought, shaking her head, _for heaven's sake_. A smile spread across her face and she too started to chuckle. Her husband's timing couldn't be more absurd and yet at the same time she seemed unable to help it as her chuckle turned into a genuine laugh…and then eventually, she utterly guffawed, throwing her head back and howling with amusement.

While he still had her caught off guard, James grinned broadly and yanked her forward, falling back into the mattress and pulling her with him; the force of her laughter sent her sprawling rather indelicately over his chest as her shoulders continued to shake. A strange thought occurred to her as she settled over him. It was obvious how much they needed each other, how long they'd desired this very moment. But what she _hadn't _realized until now…was just how much she'd needed to laugh.

"Yes, well," she grinned, adjusting herself so that she straddled his hips once again. She braced her hands on either side of his head, and stared down at him. "This world _does _have a _few _other advantages."

He was lying flat now, his arms crossed rather smugly behind his head as he gazed up at her. "Such as?"

"Oh, I don't know," she bent forward, planting a teasing kiss along his jaw line. "I kinda like cell phones."

James arched back, swallowing hard as she kissed a path down his neck. "And television?" he asked, trying to concentrate on the banter.

She grinned and drew back. "And the internet."

He scoffed. "I'm not completely sold on the internet."

She chuckled again, but the amusement in her voice subsided, and she sat back suddenly pensive, drawing her fingers delicately across his stomach. He caught her hand in his, beckoning her to look at him. "Of course," she said quietly, "I'd trade all of it just to be … your wife again."

"Hey," James propped himself up on his elbows, squeezing her hands tightly at his sides. "You _are _my wife."

She nodded, but was still frowning. "I know, I just mean…officially," she looked up and met his gaze, lacing her fingers through his. "For the _world _to see…without the sneaking around, and secret meetings and pretending—"

But James refused to allow her to continue, and in one fluid movement, twisted her off of him and flipped her onto her back, pressing her deep into the mattress as he sealed his mouth over hers. She clung to him, digging her fingers into his shoulders, letting him drink his fill until she couldn't draw breath. He smoothed his hand over her abdomen and up her side, coming to rest against her cheek as his fingers massaged the back of her neck. When at last he pulled away, he kept his face hovered over hers, forcing her to look at him as he kept her cheek cradled in his hand. "Does it _feel _like I'm pretending?" he asked gruffly.

She clasped one hand around his wrist, holding his arm over her heart, and reached up with the other, stroking a few sweaty locks of light brown hair from his forehead. "No," she said with a smile. But he did not smile back. He was adamant that she have no regrets, no doubts, and he held her gaze intensely and determined. Tunneling her hand through his hair to the back of his neck, she pulled him down and kissed him again in reassurance. "Make love to me, James," she whispered into the kiss.

At last he grinned, sliding his hand away from her cheek, drifting lower as his eyes lit up in an amorous glow. "That's the plan," he rasped. And for the next few hours, he made good on his word.

…

Henry had protested quite a bit in the car as she drove him back to the mayor's house, but Emma wouldn't hear of it. If she was going to get to the bottom of _any _of the weird, unexplainable shitgoing on in this messed up town, she would get to the bottom of _this_. But she couldn't do that with Henry around. She _wouldn't _confront David and Mary in front of him. Her son had once already caught her confessing to Regina what she really thought of this fairy tale theory. She wouldn't risk another heart break like that. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure _what _she wanted to find out or prove or confront them _about _and she needed time to sort it out.

David was writing to Mary Margaret using the names _Henry _had assigned them. Snow White and James. Snow White and Prince Charming. What did it _mean_? Were they joking? Was it some sort of code they used to conduct their affair? Was it some sort of twisted role-playing? Emma shuddered at that last thought and shook her head. Of course the one possibility she _refused_ to consider – but was still scratching at the back door of her mind anyway – was that Henry…had been right all along.

_Your parents didn't leave you on the side of a freeway. That's just where you came through!_

No – as much as she'd allowed herself to grow close to Mary Margaret, as much as she still couldn't explain the draw she felt toward David, her random instinct to protect him the other day in front of Regina – she just couldn't bring herself to genuinely consider the possibility. It had been an intriguing little fantasy in the past few days. Tempting even, on occasion. But everything she was…the person she'd become…her entire identity was _rooted_ in certain assumptions about her origin she'd had to force herself to accept from the time she was three years old: Postulations about her parents' abandonment that she'd burned into her mind as truths in order to prevent herself from become attached or disappointed ever again.

_The wardrobe. When you went through the wardrobe you appeared in the street. Your parents were trying to save you from the curse._

Bullshit. Her parents, whoever they were, weren't saving her from anything. She wasn't sent through a magical wardrobe to be protected from an evil queen. _My parents didn't even bother to drop me off at a hospital! I ended up in the foster system and I had a family until I was three but then they had their own kid so they sent me back!_ To this day, Emma didn't know why she had confided that in a boy she'd _just _met, save for the fact that it seemed very important at the time that this precocious little kid understand that in the real world, there _are _no happy endings. In the real world, _actions _have consequences. And for some odd reason, she now felt compelled to make sure David and Mary Margaret…understood that too.

She read the note again, after dropping Henry off, looking for clues. She started with the most obvious part: _meet me Sunday night at our spot_ and headed straight for that old bridge where they'd found David in the first place – the bridge where Mary Margaret had told her she'd arranged to meet him Wednesday night. But there was no sign of them. So she returned to town and by the time she made it back, the sun had nearly disappeared below the horizon. She checked Granny's, the school, stopped by the house a few more times just in case and eventually ended up at Marco's, figuring there was as good a chance as any that David's new job provided a new place for them to rendezvous after hours. But the shop was also dark and Emma turned away from the shaded windows with a frustrated sigh.

"Emma?" she heard behind her as she was about to climb back into her bug. Emma turned, seeing a blonde woman walking over from her car to join her on the curb.

"Mrs. Nolan," she gaped, having completely forgotten that perhaps his own _wife _might have some idea, even if she wasn't conscious of it, of where her husband was.

"Please," Kathryn shook her head with a small smile. "It's Kathryn." Her arms were wrapped around her waist and she pulled her floor length sweater tighter around her as she glanced up at the storefront.

"Kathryn," Emma agreed with a nod. "How are you?"

The woman shrugged, glancing back and forth between the deputy and Collodi's. "That all depends," she said with a sad shrug. "I don't suppose you've seen my _husband_ anywhere have you?"

Emma gulped, deciding on the spot that informing Kathryn that she too, the _deputy_, was also looking for David probably wouldn't help either of them right now. "No, haven't seen him" she mumbled.

Kathryn nodded. "Of course not. Why would you?" she muttered, though her tone was biting.

Emma's eyes narrowed, studying her. "I'm…sorry."

"No _I'm _sorry," Kathryn sighed, offering an apologetic smile. "My mother always told me – don't air your dirty laundry in public."

Emma shifted her weight awkwardly, unsure of what to say. "Yeah…well—"

"It's just that—" she squeezed her arms and huffed, "Lately it feels like…" she trailed off again, seeming very much like she'd been bursting to talk to _someone _though incredibly embarrassed to follow through. "Since he's been home," she finally admitted, "It feels like he's farther away from me than he was in the hospital."

Again, Emma shuffled her feet, shoving her hands in her pockets. "I'm…I'm sorry to hear that."

Kathryn sniffled back a few tears, clearly attempting to make it appear she was just cold. "I mean last night it was 'I gotta take a walk'. The night before that, he wanted to check out _Garcon's _for some reason." She shuddered at the name, clearly in poor judgment of the place. She glanced back up at the shop. "And tonight? It was 'I've gotta work late.'..." she hesitated, taking another sharp sniffle. "Which…clearly isn't true."

"Kathryn, I'm not sure—"

"Look," she withdrew, shrinking back to her car, "if you see him…can you just…tell him I'm looking for him?"

Emma watched with renewed anger toward David Nolan as his wife got back in her car. As she drove away, Emma turned toward the wind, gritting her teeth and murmured, "Count on it."

…

"'Something came up'? That's all he said?"

"To Marco anyway."

Snow sighed, squeezing tightly to her husband's arm as they strolled toward back toward the toll bridge. "I'm afraid the note to his children was far less…subtle."

Husband and wife had remained at the dwarfs' cottage for as long as they'd dared, mindful – despite their needs and desires – of what time and reason could allow. In the aftermath of their most heated passions, they lay together, protected in each other's embrace from the cruelties of the world as they'd shared information. James was understandably distressed to hear of what had become of Happy as well as the unfortunate relationship spawned by the curse between Belle and Gaston. Snow was simply beside herself with worry for Dopey, cringing at the thought of her poor friend braving the cold nights all alone. And even James's report of Ella's renewed strength and spunk earlier that evening couldn't fully assuage Snow's concerns that despite all her progress, her friend still slept. Still, it was wonderful to hear how and why Thomas was awake. And James just couldn't _wait _to find Archie tomorrow.

When at last the inevitable was upon them – the much dreaded departure from the cottage – it was difficult like they'd expected, though not as unbearable as they'd imagined. For they knew of its existence now and knew they could return. It was a safe haven of which the queen most undoubtedly knew nothing, else she would have destroyed it years ago. It might even become a solid base of operations the more they succeeded in lifting the curse and restoring those they loved to their former glories. So they left the cottage that night as one, renewed by the fire and passion between them, with only one topic left to discuss – Emma.

"Something's not right, Snow. I'm sure of it," James shook his head.

"I know."

"I mean, I only met Michael once yesterday, but he struck me as a very decent man – hard worker, responsible. And I _know _Emma wouldn't have left him alone to go get his children unless she was _sure _he'd be there when they got back."

In spite of the gravity of the situation they discussed, Snow felt herself smiling at her husband's faith in their daughter. James hadn't the advantages she did of being Emma's roommate or seeing her everyday, and yet somehow he'd still managed to form a connection – a bond that had allowed him to see and learn just how strong and _good _a woman their daughter had become. "I know," Snow replied. "And I tried to tell her that, but…" she trailed off, remembering the fury and hurt in Emma's eyes, "she wasn't listening by then."

James covered her hand with his own atop his arm and squeezed. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Snow shook her head, wiping away a lone tear with her glove. "It's not your fault. And it's not _Emma's_. _This_ is the world she _knows_ James_…_the only world she understands…the world we…_sent _her to."

James looked down sharply, "Don't do that—"

"I know, I know," Snow assured him. "I'm not. I'm just saying, she's lived a _lifetime_ of disappointment. So it's just—" she shrugged helplessly, picturing her daughter's sad face so clearly – "I just don't see how we'll ever coax her back to that place she was yesterday. When she had such faith…such hope."

James winced against the words and came to a stop as they reached the stony brook beneath their bridge. He stepped in front of her and took her hands in his. "Is it really that bad?"

Snow's head hung low. "Worse. She's completely cut herself off again. Yesterday I had her _reading _the book with Henry. Actually _considering_ the possibility of a connection."

"And today she's—"

"_Gone_," Snow sighed. "In every way possible. She's just…lost."

James rubbed up and down her arms, trying to frighten the cold away from her skin and her heart, but the situation did seem rather grim. He too had seen the kind of growth and potential in their daughter that Snow had seen: at the castle when Emma had seen her mobile, and again at Gold's shop when every fiber in her being clearly screamed out to _not _let 'David' interfere with the deal…and yet…she did.

Snow was right – it had taken days getting Emma to even _consider_ opening her mind to the truth. And only in tiny intervals. And if he and Snow were right about Michael, about the other villains monitoring Storybrooke, about the dangers they faced…they didn't have that kind of time anymore. With one last determined sigh, James looked down at his wife. "Then we don't _coax _Emma back." Snow looked up, questioningly as her short breaths came out in tiny puffs of cool air.

"We don't?"

"No," James tucked a tendril of ebony hair back beneath her hat. "We just _tell _her."

A rustling in the trees behind the two startled them apart, and Snow let out a tiny cry as they whipped their heads around and saw Emma herself emerge from the brush. "Tell me what?" said the deputy, her arms crossed. And in the immediate minutes that followed, no one said a word.

…

*****Well! I wonder how they'll get out of **_**this **_**one! Very little room left now for pretense, wouldn't you say? Sorry to leave off on such a cliff hanger, but I've had THE reveal mapped out in my head almost from the very beginning of this project. Now that it's finally here, I've got to go back and dig it out of my brain again! Hope you enjoyed this latest installment. Major shout outs go to RMSroswell, Haley Renee, and Lo'Lan for such great feedback as well as general THANK YOU I LOVE YOU to all my regular readers out there fueling my spirits and acting as my muse.**

**Stay tuned for more James, Snow and Emma – we'll also be revisiting Ella/Thomas, Belle, the dwarfs, the villains and learning what really **_**did **_**happen to Michael in the upcoming chapters. Happy Reading/Writing/Living!*****


	20. Modern Family

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Modern Family**

Emma, Snow and James seemed hopelessly locked in a torturous stalemate, each frightfully aware that the next words spoken would determine the fate of all three. Snow swallowed hard, frozen to the ground, feeling as cold as the air around them. James's gaze darted back and forth between his daughter and wife, and he seemed on the brink of saying something, but Emma broke the silence first.

"Well?" she shrugged, her arms still crossed. "Out with it!" her tone was biting, unforgiving…as cold as it had been when she'd first arrived in Storybrooke. "Tell me what? That you guys are pretending to be _Snow White_ and Prince _Charming_? That you're _using _my son's delusion as an excuse to carry on this-this-" she shook her hand towards them, disgusted, "_whatever _this is?" She shifted her accusing glare to David. "That your _wife _is walking around Storybrooke right now looking for you? Wondering what the hell she did wrong?"

"Emma—" James started forward. But his daughter held her hands up in protest, holding him off.

"No! Don't _Emma _me. I'm tired of being _Emma'd!" _she cried, throwing her arms up in frustration. "I'm _tired_ of being caught in the middle of all the bullshit going on in this town and always feeling like I'm two steps behind _everyone _else. So _please_…for _once_…just give me a straight answer!"

They looked at each other, sharing the same thought – if only it were that easy. "Emma, I know you're upset—" James tried again.

"No!" One hand came to her hip as she sliced the other one blade-like through the air. "I _said _give me—"

"A straight answer, yes—We heard you!" Snow snapped, finding her voice. "But that's not _really_ what you want to hear is it?"

"Don't _you _start with me," she snapped at her roommate, and she turned to walk away.

"Fine, you want a straight answer?" Snow rushed forward and came around her daughter, stopping her dead in her tracks. "I'll give you one—"

"Snow—"

"_This_ is your father," she pointed to James, who fell silent once more. "_I'm _your mother, everything Henry has ever told you about the curse is _absolutely_ true, and _everything _in that book of his actually happened! But you don't _want _to hear that, do you?" She registered the open-mouthed horror in her daughter's face but she ignored it. "What you want is a safe, rational explanation for everything that fits into _your _world. Well I can't give you that." Her reply clearly had her daughter shocked, but Snow pressed on. James was right. They were past the point of hints and clues and coaxing. She had to _know_. "_You _don't _belong _in this world," she said, pointing at Emma's heart. "_None _of us do. And all the 'bullshit' you think is going on here…is just _us_ tryingto get _home_."

Emma didn't budge; she couldn't. She simply stared into the eyes of a woman she had gotten to know so well – a woman who, despite every instinct telling her to run, kept her rooted to the ground.

"Please," Snow implored, her tone softening, "Try to open your mind. Try to open yourself up to the possibility that the family you've been searching for…" her voice broke as she finished, "…is right here in front of you." And smiling through bleary eyes, Snow reached out to touch her daughter's hand.

But Emma recovered and snatched it back. "Don't!" she cried, her own hand trembling with the same needs, the same urge. But she denied those instincts, reason demanding that she hold back. "Just…stop."

"Emma—"

"I said stop!" she spat, her own voice cracking in the cold wind. No matter how much she _wanted _it to be true…it just…it just wasn't possible! "You two…" she paused, unable to look either of them in the eye as her breath came out in heavy puffs of vapor. "You two m-make me _sick_," she said thickly, the words turning to ash in her mouth, and she kept her eyes glued to the ground, ignoring Mary Margaret's aching cry as the woman collapsed to the forest floor. Unable to face them any longer, she turned stalked back up the path.

Snow clutched her hands to her stomach, nearly doubling over from the force of her daughter's words. James was at her side instantly, one hand on her arm and the other at her back, supporting her. But he was glowering up the incline, watching Emma fade away. James had felt a rather wide range of emotions around his daughter in the past few days…but never anger. Not until now. And though he hated to leave Snow in the throws of agony, he refused to let it end here. "Emma!" he yelled, running up the hill, dry leaves crunching in violent strides as he caught up with her. "Emma!" he called again as they both reached the road just beyond the toll bridge. He grabbed her arm and yanked her around, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Don't _touch_ me!" Emma yelled, trying to wrench her arm free.

But James's grip on his daughter was iron-clad. "Is it really _us_ you're mad at? Or are you mad at yourself?"

"What?" she cried, still trying to break free, though in the back of her mind somehow, she registered that it was fruitless.

"You heard me."

"Why the hell would I be mad at _myself?_"

"Because you finally _trusted _someone again."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "I have _never _trusted _you_."

"I'm not talking about me." James countered, not missing a beat. "I'm talking about the woman down there whose heart you just broke. I'm talking about Snow White_._"

"Mary Margaret!"

"Snow White!—Your _mother_."

"Oh _please_—"

"What, don't believe me?" he let out a bitter, humorless laugh.

"You _know _I don't!" she snapped, still struggling to free herself. "It's impossible—"

"For a woman only a few years older than you to be your mother? Yeah, I admit that's a lot to swallow. _Believe _me, it wasn't so easy for _us_ either."

The remark seemed to deflate her a bit, for she finally stopped squirming.

"So let's say you're right—say there _is _no curse," he said, releasing her, for he knew now that she would not run again. "You wanna believe I'm some selfish bastard stringing along a lonely schoolteacher while cheating on my wife? Fine. I don't blame you for that. By the standards of _your _world, that's _exactly _what I am."

His biting tone chipped away at her soul, and somehow – though Emma couldn't figure out why – hearing David describe _himself _this way…sounded utterly ludicrous.

"Judge _me _all you want, Emma," he said, his voice low and breaking as he pointed down the slope. "But not _her. _You oweher more than that. And you know it."

"Oh I _know _it, do I?" Emma spluttered, though with considerably less ire than she'd spoken before.

"Yes…" James grasped both her shoulders now, steadying her, and this time she didn't flinch. "You do." He gave her a tiny shake. "_Think _Emma. I _know _you've felt it. You're feeling it right now, even though your head's telling you not to." His eyes started to sting but he blinked back the tears. "You've known it all along. From the time you _met _her …when she was still just 'Mary Margaret' remember?"

Emma looked down toward the valley, and though she couldn't actually _see _her from where they were standing now, the pain she knew she'd caused her friend – _again – _was palpable, sinking into her gut like the frigid December air.

"Mary Margaret—" James continued in an impassioned whisper, "—the _first_ person in Storybrooke you trusted. The first person, I'm guessing…that you've trusted in a _long _time."

Emma started, unnerved by the truths he was speaking, and annoyed that it was _David Nolan _once again who was speaking them.

"That woman loved you before she even knew who _she _was. Why else would she have bailed you out, no questions asked? Why else would she have invited a complete stranger with a sordid past to come and live with her?" Hope blossomed in his heart as he saw a single tear trickle down his daughter's cheek, crystallizing in the cold. He stroked it away with the pad of his thumb and whispered, "She's your _mother_, Emma."

Emma's breath caught in her throat, "It's just…not…possible," she choked, and though she intended it to be harsh, it came out in a helpless sob. "Th-there's just no way—no proof—"

"Faith is believing in something when there _is _no proof, Emma. Like you believed in Henry…like he believed in _you_."

_Oh, low blow David! _Emma couldn't stop from thinking, though there was – of course – no denying it. He was absolutely right. Henry's unshakeable loyalty to her was clear from the _moment_ the kid walked into her life, knowing little more about her than her name and address. If she couldn't return that faith now…in Henry…in Mary Margaret…in _Snow_…

She forced herself to look into David's eyes, eyes that reflected her own sorrows, regrets…hopes. She reached up and clasped his wrist, just below where he still cupped her cheek…but didn't pull it away. She opened her mouth to speak…to _finally_ let them both in, when suddenly—

"James!" they heard a shriek barreling up the hill. Both whipped around and rushed to the edge. "James! Emma!" Snow cried from below. And the two looked on in horror as they saw Snow being dragged up the other side of the valley by a man neither of them recognized.

"Snow!" James yelled.

"Mary Margaret!" Emma cried at the same time and at once started down the hill, but James thrust his arm out and held her back. "What are you doing?" she whirled on David.

"We can catch 'em faster if we take the bridge!" James said already taking off along the paved road to the bridge as Snow and her assailant reached the other side. His wife was certainly putting up a fight, kicking and clawing at the man whose long trench coat scraped the pavement and almost caused him to trip twice. But the man, whose lapels were flipped up so high and tight around his neck that they half covered his face, was too strong for her and succeeded in shoving her into his backseat and speeding away, _just _as James reached the other side of the bridge.

"Snow!" James screamed after them, catching his breath, but it was no use. The car was rapidly receding from view.

"Who the _hell_ was _that_?" Emma gasped, catching up to him.

"I don't know," James said, anxiously looking around. "Did you drive here? Where's your car?"

Emma's mouth hung open, stupidly. "I- I uh…I kinda _stalked_ straight here…from Collodi's," she said, embarrassed. James seemed not to notice.

"Mine's up by the path behind Gold's shop," he panted, looking back and forth between the woods and the speeding car, darting his eyes around anxiously looking for a solution.

"Did you get the license plate?"

James started, "The what?"

Emma rolled her eyes and was about to retort, when a blue ball of fuzz zoomed by her ear and landed on David's arm. "What the _hell_—"

"Lucy!" James looked down, about to issue a command when Lucy was suddenly joined by at least a dozen more bluebirds scurrying in from all directions.

Emma looked on, completely stupefied as the birds surrounded David, perching on nearby rocks, the railings of the bridge, drooping tree branches…and they were all jumping up and down, manically whistling. "David, what are they doing?" she cried.

But James wasn't listening. He was trying to concentrate. Snow always had an easier time understanding the animals, but he hadn't spent most of his life working as a shepherd and farmer with nothing to show for it. He was about 90% sure of what they were suggesting, but he a bit skeptical that it would work. "Really?" he asked them, dubiously. After all, he thought, what were the chances? After all this time?...They replied by whistling even louder, the pitch so high and screeching that Emma had to cover her ears. _All right, if you say so_, he thought and ran a few feet down the path so he was clear of the bridge. Before Emma had a chance to ask, James stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled…_loud_. The piercing sound far overpowered that of the dozen bluebirds stringing their little chirps together. At last they seemed content and flew off, a decided impression of "mission accomplished" fluttering out from their proud little wings.

Emma cowered as they flew right by her, shielding herself from the onslaught of _blue _with the flap of her jacket. When she looked up, the birds were gone and David was just standing there in the road, looking out toward the horizon. She ran up to him, bewildered by how calm he suddenly seemed. How patient. "David…" she said cautiously, "what—"

"You said you wanted proof," he said, still peering out towards the woods.

Emma shook her head, trying to make sense of _anything _that had happened in the past few minutes. Proof of _what? _Who _was _that man? Who would want to kidnap Mary Margaret? Where had he come from?...and _what _was _with_ these _birds_? But she had no chance to voice any of these questions for in moments, she heard it – a thunderous rumble coming from the trees. And just as her eyes darted sideways at David, a massive black stallion burst through the tree line and charged toward the bridge. Emma swore under her breath and ducked behind a large boulder on the side of the road, but David remained remarkably still, and she looked on in horror as the monstrosity of a horse galloped right up to him and kicked his front legs in the air, neighing furiously. "Watch out!" she screamed to David as the beast's legs looked to be coming down on top of him, but David simply waited for the beast to steady, and then grasped its reigns and bridle. Only then did Emma notice…this horse was fully saddled.

"Thank you, Cain," James whispered in the horse's ear, as he thrust his foot in the stirrups and mounted, hurling his leg over the horse's massive back and settling into the familiar seat. He barely had time to register how good it felt to see his old steed again – how thankful he was that Cain was alive and unaffected by the curse (as _all _the animals seemed to be). Regina clearly thought as most ignorant folk did – that animals were stupid and needn't be bothered with in enacting the spell. Her ignorance of such things would continue to be her downfall, he thought absently. But first things first – they had to save Snow.

He gave Cain a light kick and galloped over to Emma…who now stood in the middle of the path with her jaw dragging on the ground. "Come on!" he shouted, extending his arm toward her. She didn't budge. James looked worriedly down the path. The car that had taken Snow had long since disappeared, but he knew that on Cain, they had a chance of catching up. "Emma, come on!" he begged. "You gonna help me or not?"

Emma gulped. She _hated _horses. She hated wildlife _period. _Trees, rocks, birds, snakes, deer, horses, wolves…the woods could _have _'em. Emma's idea of 'enjoying the outdoors' extended about as far as staring at pictures on _National Geographic's _website. But she knew none of that mattered now. Mary Margaret – Snow – _whatever! _She was in trouble. And she'd be damned if she let that horrible conversation be the last words they ever shared. Without a moment's more hesitation, she stepped forward, thrust out her arm and gasped as David effortlessly hoisted her up behind him. "Hold onto me," he ordered. And Emma instantly complied. "He's _fast_."

Without any more warning, Cain kicked into a wild gallop, charging down the road toward the fleeing car, carrying father and daughter deep into the night.

…

Emma couldn't remember the last time her legs ached so much. She'd only ever been on a horse once in her life, when her foster mom took her to a state fair and plopped her down on a pony…and she didn't like it _then_ either. She wrapped her arms around David's waist for dear life, taking in breathless gulps of air as the wind whipped by her face and they raced past God-knows how many trees, tearing after the car.

After a time, the road became a dirt path and soon turned to gravel as they galloped across the varied terrain, approaching a faint light in the distance which Emma took to be the assaulter's intended destination. In the infinitesimal moments when she _wasn't_ scared out of her wits, she noted that…David wasn't kidding. This 'Cain' was indeed, unbelievably _fast_, and – as with most things revealed to her tonight – seemed completely improbable, since she was _fairly _certain cars were designed to move faster than just _one_ horse.

David never once slowed down though, and she had to admit she was quite impressed by how well he handled the horse. Despite the absurdity of it all, the beast _did _seem to know him – making it less and less possible by the minute for Emma to deny what Mary Margaret had said: _everything Henry has ever told you about the curse is absolutely true_…which meant at this moment…Emma was on a mission…with her _father_. This realization was _far_ too confusing for her to process, however, so she chose to remain focused on the task at hand.

Their ride took them straight through an area of woods with which James was unfamiliar, and only his steadfast determination to protect his family carried him onward, for he was frightfully aware of the fact that no one – not even Thomas – would be able to track them if they got lost…or worse. The forest seemed to stretch on for miles and James found himself growing nervous that their journey would take them beyond the borders of Storybrooke. Should that be the case, there was no telling what might happen given the fact that, well, as Henry had been warning them all along: _no one _leaves Storybrooke.

Eventually, to James's relief, the car slowed and turned onto a concealed drive that curved itself along a circuitous path. The dim light they'd spotted earlier turned out, as they drew closer, to be emanating from a few dozen porch lights, illuminating the perimeter of an elegant mansion. James slowed to a trot and tucked Cain behind a tall hedge, peering through the cracks in the pines. He judged them to be about 100 feet from the front porch over which a lavish canopy was erected. The assailant pulled the car just under the awning and they watched in horror as he slammed the driver's side door closed, circled around to the other side, and pulled his now limp and unconscious captive from the back seat.

Emma gasped behind him and he instinctively covered her hands with his own, urging her to remain calm as they watched the man carry Snow into the house. It was a good thing she wasn't riding Cain alone, for the brute didn't take kindly to nervous riders and certainly would have given them away by now. Once the front door of the house crashed shut, Emma immediately slid from the saddle, holding onto his arm as she lowered herself to the ground. Once she was safely down, he too dismounted, gave Cain an affectionate pat on the rump and sent him back into the night.

Emma took perhaps the first deep breath she had since the journey had begun and braced her hands on her knees, half bent over as she recovered. James came up behind her, placed a calming hand on her shoulder and then crouched down in front of her. "You all right?" Emma kept her head hung low but glowered up at him from beneath her brow, giving him a look that actually made James chuckle. "Deep breaths, ok? You'll be all right in a minute. And whatever you do, don't lock your knees."

"Why…" she gulped, catching her breath, "why did you send him away?"

"Don't worry, he won't go far," he whispered, peering past her to the woods. "He gets antsy with nothing to do."

Again, Emma gave him an incredulous glare, as if to say: _how do _you _know_? But she didn't ask. She didn't really want the answer.

James gave her a few more minutes and then reached up and squeezed her arm. "Come on," he said quietly, and started across the lawn.

Somewhat recovered, Emma shook herself out and adjusted her jacket, falling in step behind him as they crept along the hedge and up to the side of the house. They moved stealthily, circling around to the backyard where they spotted a cellar door, hanging open and half off its hinge. James started towards it but Emma pulled him back behind a cluster of trees. "That's a little _obvious _don't you think?" she hissed, crouching down.

"I know, but what choice do we have?" he whispered back. "You saw him dragging her in there. Who knows how much time she's got!"

"Relax," she said, and this time it was Emma to lay the comforting hand upon his own. The gesture startled them both, but Emma didn't pull back. "He probably drugged her with chloroform."

"With what?"

"Chloroform," Emma said again, pleased to be the one _in-the-know_ at the moment. "Don't worry. It just knocks you out for a few hours."

James sighed, glanced back up at the house and then back to Emma. "Well, I'm open to suggestions."

She looked up at the top floor windows. All the lights were on and there seemed to be no indication of movement inside, making it very difficult to discern whether the man was working alone, _where _exactly he was in the house, and where he might have stashed Mary Margaret. Crossing her arms, she let out a frustrated huff. "I wish we knew more about this guy. You _sure _you didn't recognize him?"

James shook his head. "Not that I remember," he said. "And I don't think Snow knew him either."

She started at the name and opened her mouth to retort, but he noted her expression and beat her to it.

"Look, you keep calling her Mary Margaret all you want. That doesn't change who she is _or _how much danger she's in because of it."

"Whadyou mean?" she gulped.

He pinched the ridge of his nose, trying to temper his fear for his wife with patience for his daughter. "I mean whoever took her wasn't just thinking it'd be fun to kidnap a _schoolteacher_," he said pointedly.

With that, Emma was forced to agree and, with no other obvious access points, reluctantly decided to brave the cellar door. Silently, they crept across the yard. James descended one step into the cellar, peering into blackness. He was half-tempted to tell her to hang back, beg that she stay out of harm's way. But he knew it would be pointless. In her own way, Emma was as fiercely dedicated to her mother as he was. Even if she didn't fully believe, he knew she wouldn't let anything happen to Snow. Still, both father and daughter knew they were most likely heading into a trap, but without a clue as to the layout of the house or what they were up against, they had little choice but to stick together and proceed.

The chipped and creaking cellar stairs led them to an equally shoddy looking door. Though the rest of house seemed immaculate, the basement appeared quite neglected. This could be a good sign, James thought, though without much conviction. His heart was pounding as they skulked through boxes of canned foods and rotting furniture. But they reached the base of the steps leading up to the first floor without incident, so they continued to climb together, approaching a very narrow slit under the door where light was beaming through.

Both felt as if they hadn't so much as breathed since entering the cellar and Emma's pulse was racing so fast now, she was _sure _David could hear it. She stayed close as he turned the handle and heard it click open. Though it was no louder than a dropped pin, their fear amplified it into a downright clatter and both stood frozen for several minutes before David turned it any further to open it.

When at last he set the door swinging free, James was actually shocked _not_ to find an entire brigade on the other side of the door ready to trounce them. Could Snow's kidnapper really live in this immense place all by himself? He glanced back at his daughter whose similar expression suggested she was thinking the exact same thing, for she offered a simple shrug and motioned for him to continue.

They stepped out into a…rather strange looking hallway. Yes, _very_ strange. In fact…utterly bizarre. James had never seen anything quite like it – not in either world. The floors were laid with black and white checkered squares of carpeting along the narrow hall, but the squares were clearly cut to make it appear as if the hallway shrunk as it continued in one direction, and grew in another. The walls were painted similarly, again in a black and white checkered pattern, though every few squares bore a garishly red shaded diamond in the middle. The pattern covered the surface from floor to ceiling and it too seemed to be either shrinking or growing depending on the direction.

The effect was so disorienting for the two souls who'd just stepped out of complete and total darkness that Emma felt herself getting dizzy. She'd read about things like this – she'd seen her share wandering in and out of fun houses when jokers skipping out on bail would run out of creative places to hide. It was all illusion. It couldn't be real (even if everything David – or James or _whoever_ - was telling her ended up being true…this was still _her _world…where illusions were just that...illusion). "Close your eyes," she whispered, seizing David's shoulder as he was about to tumble into the wall in front of him.

James complied, and in an instant, the disorientation was gone. Wordlessly, he reached up to his shoulder and squeezed her hand, clasping it down at his side as he felt along the wall with the other, leading them out of the dreaded corridor. They emerged finally into a small foyer of sorts, though it didn't seem to be at all in the front of the house. It wasn't by any means a _plain _room, but certainly less disturbing than the hallway.

It almost had the feel of a common room, thought Emma, connecting individual dorms. She noted particularly the two small sofas bridged together by a cozy looking coffee table and mismatched floor rugs. Two tall floor lamps, one in each far corner, stood looking horridly orange with tassels hanging from thick vinyl shades illuminating rows of bookcases scattered along the walls. Two doors stood mysteriously on each of the side walls and were made of what looked to be decorative cedar, bearing some rather strange markings etched where one might ordinarily find a room number. With four doors in all, and each set of markings slightly different, it was difficult to tell which one they should open.

James and Emma split off, Emma to the left and James to the right. He smoothed his hand over the markings and tried to decipher the strange symbols, but they were unlike anything he'd seen before. Emma too started to inspect the etchings with even less luck.

"Do you know what any of this means?" Emma whispered harshly across the room.

James shook his head. "No, but I'm willing to bet they're all linked somehow. Like some bizarre riddle we have to—" but his speech was cut short by the sounds of a door opening across the room. James whipped around and gaped at his daughter who was now standing in the _open _doorway of one of the four rooms.

"Or they're there to distract us from…trying the doorknobs," she said with a light smirk.

James smirked too, though it made him even more nervous. That was now three doors they'd opened without incident and without detection. Too much about this was too easy. Emma was peeking her head around the corner of the door frame and then stepped back out.

"Nothin'," she said and pulled it shut.

James nodded and turned back to his own door, ignored the symbols as his daughter suggested, and gripped doorknob. Hands trembling, he gave it a twist and it too gave way, creaking open without so much as a rough push. But instead of finding his room empty, the door swung open, light from the foyer spilling into the room…to reveal his wife, bound, gagged and unconscious on a chair. "Snow!" he rushed inside at once, crouching down immediately to inspect the bindings. "Snow can you hear me?"

Emma sped over, similarly abandoning caution to the wind, to reach Mary Margaret. But her eyes instead fell on the dark man stepping out from behind the door. "David watch out!" she cried. But she was too late. Forever too late – as if in slow motion, she watched as the man cracked the handle of a gun down on the back of David's head, knocking him out cold. Frozen in place from the threat of the gun, Emma could only cry out in horror as David's body crumpled to the ground at Mary Margaret's feet before the man whirled around, his trench coat fluttering out like a cape, stepped out of the room and yanked the door shut.

"Now then!" he exclaimed with wild, red eyes and exaggerated panache. "Tea time!"

…

"So you _contained_ the problem, I take it?" the queen barked into the phone.

"Well if I _hadn't, _you'd know it by now wouldn't you? I imagine the mayor would be the _first_ person called if one of her citizens saw a boy _flying _by their window," John quipped into the phone, giving Regina the distinct impression that he was leaning back in a chair, inspecting the grime under his fingernails. "Although now that I think about it, Sydney would certainly have something new to write about—"

"Just—" she inhaled through her teeth, glancing across her desk at Rodmilla, who looked quite droll as she drummed her fingers on her arms rest. "Just be _sure _it doesn't happen again. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how…_displeased_ I am to keep hearing about these security breaches at the home John. Are you and Hook losing your touch after all?"

She heard him take a deep breath, clearly biting his tongue before he responded curtly, "Certainly _not _your Majesty, though I can't vouch for the old Captain. Getting a bit tired in his old age if you ask me—"

"John!" she warned, leaning forward in her chair. "Do not disappoint me."

"Have I ever, my queen?"

He had her there. As hesitant as she'd been to bring him on board with the other rogues – given his rather limited magical powers and flamboyant nature – Honest John had proven to be a most indispensable ally…and a deliciously ruthless villain.

Knowing he could not expect an actual _acknowledgement _of this fact, John simply continued. "Of course it _would _be easier if you'd get your Irish pet out of my school," his tone turned rather superior and Regina bristled. "The longer we keep him here, the more questions they ask, and preventing them from _asking _questions, if you recall Madame Mayor, was the whole point of—"

"We have to keep him there until the curse is fully restored. As you are _well _aware, masking memories made _in _Storybrooke is a much more delicate process than masking those that came before. This is not the first time we've had to…_purge _Graham, and I would like it to be the last."

"As you wish, my queen. He'll return tomorrow morning, good as new. I, in the meantime, will continue to entertain myself with his cell phone." Regina rolled her eyes. "Anything else?" he asked.

"How are your…_other _arrivals settling in?" she shot another look at Lady Tremaine whose lips pursed into a thing smile across the desk.

"Splendidly," John replied with flourish. "Of course the boys are quite unused to having a _girl _around. I'm sure we'll find some use for her though."

"Good," was her only reply, and without another word, she laid the phone back in its cradle, folded her hands under her chin and smiled. "Well," she purred, "the Lost Boys continue to be no more than a nuisance. Would you like some more tea, Rodmilla?"

Tremaine cocked an eyebrow, "That sounded like more than a nuisance, Regina. I do wonder at the faith and trust you continue to place in that con artist."

"Why shouldn't I?" Regina reached for the crystal tumbler, raising the glass of water to her lips. "John has been nothing but loyal from the very beginning – which is more than I can say for _some _of our kind here."

"I know, but that is just what I mean. A conniving little weasel like that is bound to become a burden, liable to demand payment in return."

Regina replaced the glass on a coaster and folded her hands once more. "He pockets half of the funds the government sends to that boys' home, owns more than half the assets of Gunlief's emporium _and _is exempt from the curse. If he _wants _more…he is welcome to _ask_."

Rodmilla nodded, conceding the point, but remained dubious. "I suppose. In any case, as I was saying before we were so _rudely_ interrupted," she droned toward the phone, "we have worse problems brewing _here._"

Regina pinched her temples between her fingers and sighed. "It was a _necessary _exercise, Rodmilla—"

"One that _failed_—"

"No, one that _revealed _to us how strong Ella has become."

"Strong enough to defeat your poison!" the old step mother sneered, gripping both arm rests now as the real reason for her visit came to light.

But Regina held her hand up, begging for her patience. "The apples were never designed to be an absolute cure, my dear lady, only a deterrent. She's clearly far too close to happiness to be affected—"

"And so your solution is to allow them to come here _today _and go through with a _marriage_ license?" she scowled. "That's putting quite the dent in _my _happy ending, Regina. If I must witness their union _again_—"

"You won't," the mayor replied firmly, still trying to maintain an ease and confidence she secretly lacked. It had indeed been distressing to discover that Ella had gained back so much of herself. "_Applying _for a marriage _license_ is not a marriage. It's paperwork."

"It's a step _forward _for them!"

"And buys more time for _us_. Time to refine a more…_permanent _solution. Besides, the further along they get, the sweeter the revenge will be when it all comes crashing down."

"Perhaps," Rodmilla muttered, taking the empty tea cup from its saucer on the desk, then slamming it back down, remembering she'd already finished it. "Ungrateful little wench," she said. "I find it hard to believe she derives such _happiness,_" she shuddered at the word, "from raising that bastard child."

Regina pondered that one a moment, tracing her finger around the lip of her glass, letting it ring in the air as she looked to the small portrait on her desk. "Children…have a way of changing things, Rodmilla, you know that."

"Yes but it's not just the baby!" Tremaine insisted. "I still say this has more to do with his Royal Bratness moving in! He may still be _acting_ the part of Sean Herman, but from what I've been able to glean from Mitchell, there's something decidedly different about that boy since he left his father's house. A man doesn't go from spineless leech to breadwinner in one day, Regina."

"_Relax_…please," the mayor hissed, tempering her ally with a tender pat on the hand. Again, she hoped the sense of calm she tried to project seemed sincere. Rodmilla was uncannily voicing _every_ concern Regina _also_ had this afternoon. "We all have our…special talents. Let me worry about Sean. You just do your part with Mitchell."

Tremaine rolled her eyes. "I'm _trying, _but I must say I'm running out of arguments. _Twice_ now I've had to convince him that he made the right decision. That he was right to cut Sean off and that in the end it would teach him a much needed lesson."

Regina's eyebrows raised in alarm. "Twice?"

"Twice," she confirmed, glad the mayor was finally hearing her. "The last time, I intercepted him at the market. That…little…_tart _was bouncing up and down like an idiot, no doubt announcing to her foolish friends that Sean had proposed; I spotted Mitchell _watching _them from the next aisle. He nearly walked over to join them and _believe _me, his expression was far from reproachful."

The mayor scoffed in disgust, sinking back against her chair. "King Christopher always was as _soft _as they come. It's a wonder his kingdom never went _bankrupt_ with all the charity he showered on any wretch who brought a sob story to his throne."

"Which is precisely why we cannot allow this farce to progress any further—"

"I can't very well deny them a routine application, Rodmilla. You _know _that!" Regina barked. "Our manipulation must be subtle and above all _plausible_. Why do you think I allowed Graham to be the one to take the children? To provide him with an alibi for his absence. The magic required to reset him—"

"Takes longer to administer with the curse already in place, yes I know," Tremaine waved her off impatiently.

"Which is why 'Sean' and 'Ashley' must be allowed to proceed…for now. Otherwise, we sew the seeds of doubt ourselves. We must not leave room for suspicion."

Tremaine grunted, and turned her nose in the air. "Fine. But if you ask me, applying for the license would have been the perfect opportunity for your West End lackey to pull one of his disappearing acts. It would certainly be _plausible _for 'Sean' to leave a note claiming he just couldn't bring himself to make it official." Tremaine toyed with the top of her cane as she muttered the rest under her breath: "He wouldn't be the first man in the world to get cold feet."

"So soon after doing the same with Michael?" Regina countered. "Be sensible, Rodmilla. There's no one else in Storybrooke who _misses_ that woodsman. And no one will question the dishonor of a man skipping town upon hearing he has _two _illegitimate children running around. _Especially _not, from what I hear, our _delightful _new deputy. But if Mitchell Herman is showing signs of yielding as you say, he wouldn't rest until he _found_ Sean. We simply _can't _have people asking questions. Remember the Lost Boys—"

"All right!" the woman snapped, her face twisting sourly. The lady certainly hated to be reasoned with. "Don't say I didn't warn you though when—" but at that moment, the heavy double doors of the mayor's office burst open and in stormed Kathryn Nolan…her cheeks soaked with tears.

"Regina—" she said through labored sobs, then at once noticed Tremaine. "Oh…I'm s-so sorry. I'll—"

"Not at all my dear," Rodmilla cut in, retrieving her cane and rising from her chair. "I was just leaving." Kathryn stepped aside, the way one might for a grand dame, as Tremaine (having simply _no _tolerance for bawling blubbering blondes) glided out of the office.

The doors slammed shut behind her without so much as a farewell to Regina, and Kathryn turned back to her friend. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think to check—"

"Nonsense Kathryn, please," she gestured for the small sofa against the wall. "Tell me what's happened." She had to admit she was distressed to see David Nolan's wife in such a state. Perhaps _that _element of the curse wasn't as neatly tied up as she'd been led to believe.

"I'm just so…" she wrung her hands together, pacing in front of the sofa but not sitting down. "I didn't know where else to turn. I can't find _anyone _from the sheriff's office and—"

"Kathryn, calm down—"

"I can't calm down, Regina!" she jerked away from the mayor's reach.

"Perhaps if you sit—"

"David's missing!"

Regina blinked, genuinely alarmed. "Missing?"

"He said he had to work late last night," Kathryn explained, resuming her pacing. "But when I went by to see if—" she hiccupped, holding back and seeming a tad embarrassed, "to see if he wanted some company," she went on, "he wasn't there—"

"Working? Where is he working?"

Kathryn started, shooting her a look as if to say _what in the world does _that_ matter! _but she answered, "Collodi's garage."

Again, Regina's eyes bugged out of her head, and she struggled to maintain a visage consistent with a concerned, yet detached mayor. "Marco Collodi's garage," she clarified. _Prince James was working for Geppetto? _

Kathryn nodded, seeming not to notice her friend's rising fury. "And he never came home. So this morning I was driving around like a maniac looking for him and…and…" she choked back a sob— "and I spotted his car parked behind Mr. Gold's shop!"

"Behind Mr. Gold's—"

"Yes, but there was no sign of him!"

"Kathryn," Regina tried again to calm the hysteria. "Think: were the keys in the car? Did it look like there was a…a struggle?" she knew the question was strange, but her own mind was spinning. Was it possible Honest John had gone _truly_ rogue on Prince Charming?

"I don't know!" she shook her hands frantically then squeezed her fingers together so tight her knuckles turned white. "I don't know," she cried more softly. Regina gathered her into a hug.

"Shh," she soothed, "try to calm down. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation." The frightened housewife whimpered softly against her shoulder, and Regain resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If she was to continue to play her part convincingly, she must act appropriately. She pulled back and braced her hands on Kathryn's shoulders. "You poor dear." Kathryn didn't respond, merely sniffled into her shoulder. Regina looked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what it meant. She'd given no orders that _anything_ was to be done with David Nolan. His Storybrooke identity had been successfully restored at dinner the other night. And from Emma's own report, he had even mentioned—she froze. _Emma's report, _she thought, grinding her teeth. _Why _had she trusted that bitch? She'd been so distracted with Graham and the Zimmer children and Thomas and Ella that…she hadn't even considered the greatest threat of all.

The mayor took a deep breath, and proceeded to test her theory. She looked down at the sniveling Kathryn and pulled her into another hug. "I'm so sorry. To think he was showing such _progress_ the other night," she murmured. "What with you already talking about starting a family—"

Kathryn's shoulders stiffened immediately and she pulled back, staring blankly at her friend. "Wh-what?"

"You and David? I heard—" but the twit's ignorant gawp told Regina all she needed to know, and in seconds, searing hot rage prickled up her neck. "Excuse me," she said in a deep, guarded voice. "I thought I had heard that you two were…talking about children."

Kathryn reeled back. "_Where _did you hear _that_?" she cried, her fear and worry turning instantly to bitterness. "We've barely been speaking at _all _let alone planning a family!" she threw her arms up in anguish and resumed her pacing. "I'm lucky to get him to stay in the house for _five seconds_."

Regina bit her tongue so hard she felt sure it was bleeding. So David Nolan hadn't been restored after all. Not, at least, the way she'd wanted him to. And now he was _missing_! Still, the queen maintained her cool and adopted a truly sympathetic façade. "Oh Kathryn. I had no idea," she shook her head sadly. "I guess…" she paused and thought a moment, contemplating the possible explanations for this latest development, and decided to plant a seed. "I guess the gossip is true after all."

Kathryn blinked, wiping her nose on her sleeve as her eyes narrowed. "What…what gossip?"

Regina brought a hand to her chest in a dramatic show of sensitivity. "Oh dear, when I heard it, I didn't even want to _bother _you with it. I mean, after seeing you two so happy the other night at dinner, I felt _sure _it was just an absurd rumor."

"Regina," Kathryn seethed, with a sudden forcefulness that Regina had not seen in Abigail since before enacting the curse. "_What_ are you _talking _about?"

Again, Regina continued to play her part, every movement and word simply dripping with endless sympathy and pity. "Oh dear," she sighed. "Yes, I suppose you must know now…It's been rumored, I'm afraid…that David has been having an affair…with Mary Margaret Blanchard."

…

"Are you sure?" Thomas asked, instantly on the alert. "You tried his cell?" The information Marco was relating was _not _what he'd expected to wake up to this morning. "No, he left around 6 and I know he had…um, a stop to make, but then as far as I knew he was going home." Tucking the house phone up between his chin and shoulder, Thomas grabbed his own cell phone from its cradle and punched in a text to James. "No, I can't, sorry – I've gotta get over to Garcon's this morning to receive the shipment and then—" he paused as Ashley emerged from the hallway, carrying Alexandra over to the makeshift changing table by the couch. "I have somewhere to be at 1:00," he finished, flashing her a quick wink then looking back at his cell. No reply. _Damn. _"Yeah, absolutely," he told Marco. "If I hear from him I'll tell 'im to call you." With a nervous sigh, he hung up the land line and continued to stare at his cell.

"Who was that, Marco?" Ashley asked, sensing Sean's frustration.

"Yeah," Thomas said, punching in another text. "He says David never showed for his shift this morning."

"David Nolan?" she asked, remembering the man she met last night. Sean nodded. "Well," she frowned, "I'll bet Marco's regretting _that _hire."

Thomas snapped his head up. "No, you don't get it," he grasped the edge of the counter, his other hand on his hip. "This isn't _like_ him."

Ashley glanced up from the changing table and started. Her fiancée was white as a sheet. "Sean," she said warily, "He seems like a nice guy but…I mean…well you just met him _Saturday_ didn't you? Maybe he's just…not that reliable."

Thomas opened his mouth to defend James, then snapped it shut. _Dammit! _he thought, catching himself and _hating _the curse. "I…I know…" he said eventually, grasping for some sort of cover. "I just…that wasn't my impression of him." He glanced up as she finished dressing Alex. "I'd like to think I'm a better judge of character than that."

Ashley hoisted the baby onto her shoulder and rocked her gently. "Of course you are," she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just…I hate to see you so worried. I'm sure there's an explanation."

He nodded, ran his hands through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Oh there was an explanation all right, he thought frantically, just none he could postulate that would end well. He _knew _they'd been getting careless. James had been right. The queen must have eyes and ears everywhere. Maybe they were spotted at Garcon's. Maybe—

"Hey," Ashley said softly, touching his arm.

Thomas jerked in surprise, but recovered. "Sorry," he mumbled, clearing his throat and checking his phone a third time – _still _no answer.

Ashley shook her head. "Don't be. Just…I'm sure he's fine."

He nodded, forcing himself to mask the bulk of his fear. He _mustn't _give Ella any more cause to worry. _Especially _not today. "I know, I know…his…phone probably just died," he mumbled.

She smiled. "Exactly. You boys never remember to charge your toys," she teased, hoping to get at least a half-grin out of her beau. She succeeded. "I'll see you at 1:00?"

He laced his fingers through hers, instantly comforted by her warmth, and kissed the back of her hand. "Wouldn't miss it," he said earnestly, leaning in to kiss Alex on the cheek before planting one on Ella's mouth.

She sighed into the kiss, allowing it to go on much longer than her time table allowed this morning. She only had a couple of hours to run her errands before she had to drop off Alex with Granny and head over to City Hall (she'd briefly considered bringing Alexandra along with them to apply for the license, but after yesterday…well, Ashley didn't want her daughter anywhere _near_ that wretched woman).

"Mmm," she laughed, finally pulling back. "Save some of it for the honeymoon, your Highness."

Thomas froze, locking his grip on her hand as she started to pull away. "What?" he spluttered, gaping at her, his heart pounding now for a whole slew of _different _reasons.

"What?" Ashley echoed, staring blankly and quite surprised by Sean's sudden look of shock. She wriggled her fingers from his grasp when Alex started to squirm so she could shift her to the other shoulder. "Why are you…staring at me?"

Thomas swallowed hard. This was just a bit too much for a man to take in one morning…even for a prince. "You just said…" he gulped, finishing thickly, "You just said 'save some of it for the honeymoon, your highness'."

"I did?" she blinked, her eyes darting back and forth as if she were trying to remember something that had happened _weeks_ ago.

It could have been an innocent enough joke, a teasing reference to James calling him 'charming' last night… except that Ella had whispered those very words to him on the balcony of his father's palace…minutes before they'd descended the grand staircase to begin their wedding reception.

"Wow," Ashley chuckled nervously. "I don't know where _that_ came from."

A slow smile spread across his face as he shook his head, letting her off the hook. "Never mind," he grinned. "I think I do."

…

*****Kudos to all of you for successfully identifying the two cameos in Chapter 19. Bambi and Thumper were indeed the two who helped lead Snow to the cave. I figure if the writers can have Archie own a dog named Pongo, I can give everyone's favorite deer and rabbit a little "screen time"!**

**I have to say, the conversation between James, Emma and Snow has been in my head, in its entirety, almost WORD for WORD **_**forever!**_** It's so nice to be able to get it down on the page at long last. Hope you enjoyed. Plenty more in store for the Charmings as you can probably tell. I wonder how differently the Hatter might behave! :) **

**I really can't thank you all enough for the support. Shout outs to all newcomers as well as regulars who keep coming back for more. If you keep coming back for more, I'll keep writing it! For I have never had so much fun writing a story in my life!**

**Stay tuned for more intrigue. Shout out to Atomicjinx, The Pris, and sgcycle for some truly inspiring feedback*****


	21. A World in Need of Magic

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**A World in Need of Magic**

Snow knew the instant she stirred awake that whoever the madman was who grabbed her had most likely tied her up in a hurry, for her bindings were loose and she easily maneuvered the gag from her mouth. It was dark in the room, but the sun was faintly peeking in through a covered window behind her, casting just enough light across the white floor to see…James, crumpled up at her feet. "James!" she hissed, working the ropes down her wrists and twisting her hands back and forth trying to break free. But in her struggles the knot shifted up her arm, pulling tighter rather than slackening. She huffed, blowing her hair off her face with her lower lip, and scanned the room. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light and she started to make out some rather…peculiar details. It had already struck her as odd that the floor seemed to be covered in white plaster rather than carpet or laminate, but when she looked up at the ceiling and found it tiled with faux hard wood flooring, an eeriness swept over her that brought forth disturbing memories from her past. _It can't be…_she thought, but she continued to scan the room, and unfortunately every fear was confirmed. A few feet to her right was an odd sort of umbrella-shaped iron fixture which to any passerby might appear to be some sort of abstract modern art. Snow knew better though. It branched out from the base into six J-shaped arms, and on each of them were fastened a globe-shaped bulb shaded by a frosted glass sconce. It was a chandelier…bolted to the floor. She wrenched her gaze up again and sure enough, bolted to the ceiling, were a set of two easy chairs bridged by a coffee table. One of the cushions of the chair though seemed to be pulling away from its fastening, gravity working against the intended illusion as one of the corners hung down rather sloppily from a piece of Velcro. The wallpaper had also been hung upside-down along with a half-dozen portraits scattered along the walls. Snow glanced down at James – no change there – and then scooted her chair along the floor, straining to get a closer look at the portraits. They were very delicate, decorative frames, but upon further examination bore nothing but the generic snapshots of attractive families running along beaches that one would see in a department store. Whoever had designed this room, she realized, had gone to great lengths to make it _look _like a world within Wonderland, but it was a poor substitute for the real thing. No, she thought. They must still be in Storybrooke.

Without much effort, she shifted her chair to the side so that her hands brushed up against one of the iron arms of the chandelier and felt along the edge for something sharp. A rather pointy decorative part of the design proved quite useful and in minutes, she'd cut herself out of the bindings and reached down to undo the rope around her ankles. As soon as she was free, she rushed to James's side and pulled him up from the floor so that his head rested in her lap. "James," she pleaded, slapping him lightly on the face. "James! Wake up!" for one brief, terrifying moment, Snow feared the worst, unable to help herself from flashing back to that fateful night when she'd stumbled into the nursery and saw him lying there bleeding, crumpled up beneath the wardrobe. Thankfully though, James stirred awake, and groaned himself back to consciousness as a few tears of relief trickled down Snow's cheek.

James opened his eyes and focused, trying to blink away the lime green and yellow spots he was seeing, (no doubt from the nasty blow to the head he should have seen coming). When he finally adjusted to the darkness, he blinked up and stared right into the eyes of his wife, beautiful as ever even etched with worry. "Snow," he whispered, reaching up to graze her cheek, brushing a stray tear away as she clasped his hand and squeezed.

"Prince Charming to the rescue, huh?" she said with a light chuckle and helped him reposition himself upright. He braced one palm on the floor and raised his other hand behind his head, rubbing the back of his neck where he'd been struck. His fingers barely grazed the bump and he hissed, the swollen area throbbing with pain. "Some rescue," he groaned, lowering his hand back to the floor and leaning back on both palms as he glanced around the dark room. "Any idea where we are?"

Snow shook her head. "No, but I think it's made up to look like Wonderland."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Wonderland?"

"Yes."

James leaned forward, urging her to elaborate.

She sighed and hung her head, frustrated by the cacophony of memories still at war within her mind, for this was a story she knew both as Mary Margaret _and _Snow White. In her uglier moments, she quite envied James who, as a result of his coma and amnesia, had had very little of the Storybrooke world to battle in his brain and could drift back into a far less fragmented sum of remembrances. Snow on the other hand had to dig through her 'Miss Blanchard' knowledge of _Alice in Wonderland _as a children's book by Charles Dodgson – a book she actually _taught _to her fifth graders – to reach the far more buried (and more disturbing) memory of the _real _place she'd once heard spoken of…very long ago. "I overheard the queen talking it over with her mother when I was very young," she said finally, and James reached for her hand. "Aurora was visiting and we were racing through the castle," she paused and smirked, "looking for trouble."

He smiled. Racing with _Aurora_. Of _course_ they were getting into trouble.

"Anyway, I was showing her some of the passages behind the kitchens and we overheard Regina mouthing off to her mother about this place called Wonderland."

"Is it another realm?" James grunted, pushing himself up off the floor.

"No…no I don't think so," she threw his arm around her shoulder and helped him to stand. "From the way they described it, it's not any kind of world we've seen before. It's more like…a world outsideour own. Sort of existing _beyond_ our reality."

The remark struck James as bitterly ironic and he scoffed. "Sorta like a world beyond _this _one where Emma's a princess set to inherit two kingdoms, and dwarves and fairies are part of everyday life?"

"James—"

"I'm glad we told her—" he said at once. "Don't get me wrong. I just…wish we'd had more time to explain before—"

"Before I got drugged by a psychotic madman with a back seat full of hats?" she sighed, opting for the lighter, more sardonic reply rather than the truth she stifled – the truth that was gnawing at her…that she wished they'd never said a word.

James, meanwhile, grinned at his wife's quip and slipped his hand behind her neck, tunneling his fingers through her hair before pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. He sighed and made another scan of the room, noting the same details as Snow had. "So is everything in Wonderland upside-down?"

Her hands came to her hips. "I don't think so. I just remember them describing _one_ of the 'rooms' that way. Cora was…quite adamant that Regina be sure to steer clear of the 'upside-down room' when she arrived."

"Why was she going there?"

Snow shuffled her feet and stared at the floor. "I…I don't know. We didn't stick around to find out," she shuddered, remembering all too well the moment she realized that her brand new step-mother, a woman who had saved her life, who claimed to love her as if she were her own daughter…was trading in dark magic and leading as secret and dangerous a life as they come.

James gave her hand a squeeze and moved toward the door – locked of course: bolted shut, it seemed, with three different padlocks on the outside. He cursed under his breath, fruitlessly pulling at the knob as pieces of rust flicked off in his hand. "I should've made her wait outside," he muttered.

"Who?" Snow started.

James closed his eyes. "Emma."

"What?" her eyes flew wide open and she grasped his shoulder. "She's _here? _Emma's here?"

"She _wanted_ to come, Snow—"

"But how could you—"

"And I couldn't have stopped her if I'd wanted to," he argued, but Snow's nerves were shot. She retreated back toward the covered window where a thick sheet of muslin had been stapled to the inside frame keeping out most of the sun from the early morning sky. "If I had left her in the woods, she still would've come after us, trust me," James tried again, coming up behind her.

But Snow shook her head, hugging herself around the middle. "You sure about that?...Don't we…make her _sick_?" she asked, her voice cracking under the strain of having tried to ignore the horrible conversation that kept replaying in her head.

James's heart ached for his wife and he was at her side at once. "You know she didn't mean that—"

"Oh, James I can't even _blame _her—"

"Snow—"

"I _know_ it's true and even _I _don't believe it sometimes. That we've all been stuck here? Frozen in time? That we've been living out these…these horrible versions of ourselves—"

"Hey!" James steered her around. "The queen couldn't stop _you_ from waking me up, or keep us from finding each other. And thanks to you, she never even had a _chance _of getting to Emma."

"But—"

"No. No buts. Curse or no curse, she couldn't. change. you. There _is _no 'horrible' version of yourself. Mary Margaret, Snow White – doesn't make a difference. I know that…and so does Emma."

"No she—"

"And so does Emma. She's tough Snow, walled-off just like you said. And she might not be at the point yet where she can admit it out loud." He crouched a bit and leveled with her, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "But she loves you…and she trusts you." He bent his head and kissed away a stray tear trickling down her cheek before wrapping his arms around her. "Now it's time to trust _her_."

…

"Will that be one lump?" the man purred in her ear and then sashayed over to the other side. "Or two…your _highness_?" And with a chilling giggle, he skipped back around to the front of the table and made an exaggerated bow. "I must admit, Emma Swan, I knew that you were special from the moment you arrived and the clock started ticking but when I overheard your mother—" he gestured with his free hand toward the hallway down which Emma knew Mary Margaret and David were trapped "—Snow _White _reveal the extent of it, well…" he did a tiny jig before skipping up to the chair opposite her and plopping down before her eyes. "I had no _idea_ I'd be entertaining royalty today."

Emma sat tightlipped and fuming as she glared at her captor, ignoring the steaming hot cup of tea he'd just poured from an ornate ceramic kettle in front of her. Ordinarily she would have drop-kicked this asshole down the stairwell by now…except that was pretty hard to do with a gun trained on her head.

"Oh come now," he tsked, glancing down at the untouched teacup. "I know I'm but a humble milliner but that's no excuse to be rude, princess."

"What do you want?" she asked, hastening a quick glance at the exits and windows before fixing her glare once more on the assailant. It was as strange a room as all the others had been so far, the bright white doors in direct contrast to the blood red and purple wallpaper creeping up the walls in an opulent Edwardian pattern. To her left stood an equally extravagant fireplace, festooned with brass ornamentation below the mantle and three white pillar candles nested in identical wrought iron holders. Where she might have expected a deep cherry wood dining room table was instead an austere white work slab propped up on four mismatched table legs. But the two most disturbing details about the room were the long gold telescope pointing _downwards, _aiming off the balcony, and the austere metal shelves stretched across the wall behind her…displaying dozens of identical over-sized top hats.

"What do I want?" the man replied as he reached toward the center of the slab and poured himself his own cup of tea. "Why I want your _help _of course." He leaned back in his chair waving his hands casually around him as if he _didn't _have a gun in his hand. "Why else would I go to all this trouble?"

"Your telescope," she nodded toward the balcony. "You've been watching me?"

The man leaned forward again. "Since the day you arrived."

"Why?"

The man narrowed his gaze and Emma saw something shift in his eyes. When he responded, the high-pitched, jovial tone he'd been using was gone and a chill went up her spine as he said in a smooth, low voice, "I need you to do something for me."

…

Henry hadn't had time to look for Snow when he first arrived at school that morning. The evil queen had gotten a rather late start and seemed quite distracted all the way through breakfast. So he was quite the bundle of nerves all the way through math class and even during gym as he anxiously waited away the hours until it was time to go to Miss Blanchard's room.

_Stupid_, he thought childishly as he remembered the furious look on his mom's face when she read the note he'd accidentally uncovered. _Stupid! _he chided himself again. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Oh _why _hadn't he read it _first_ before claiming it was the one left by Mr. Tillman? Part of him didn't even want to _know_ what Emma had done with the information, for judging by the smoke steaming out of her ears, he knew it wasn't likely to be pretty. And from where Henry was sitting, he couldn't imagine any scenario that ended well. Not with how hard she'd taken the fate of the Zimmer children. All he could hope for at this point was that when he walked into his English class, 'Miss Blanchard' didn't look _too _sad.

It was almost 10:00 when Mr. Shields finally blew the whistle and his classmates started dribbling back their basketballs and tossing them into the cage. Hastily, Henry grabbed his backpack from the bench and started right for the doors when he heard someone call behind him, "Big Hank! What's the hurry?"

Henry let out a frustrated groan and turned obediently to Mr. Shields as he locked up the rest of the balls (his classmates filing casually out the door while he was stuck waiting!). It wasn't that he _disliked _his gym teacher. Actually, the guy was pretty cool and was in fact one of the first people to inadvertently alert Henry to the fact that things in Storybrooke were…different. A few years ago Shields started calling Henry 'Big Hank' in reference to the fact that the kid seemed to be growing so fast. It wasn't too long afterwards that Henry realized…he was the onlykid growing _at all_. "Just wanna get to class Mr. S."

Rick Shields nodded as he swung the equipment storage doors shut and they slammed together behind him with a huge metal thud. "Never seen a kid so excited about English," he winked, having hypothesized for the last few weeks that his favorite soccer player had developed a little crush on the pixie-haired Mary Margaret. He zipped up his hoody and grabbed his bag and gradebook from the bench. "You've got Miss Blanchard next dontcha?" he tapped Henry on the head with his clipboard as the two exited the gym.

"Uh huh," Henry replied, smoothing his hair back down.

"Well I'll walk with ya then. Since I'm your sub today!" he announced with a huge grin, expecting the 5th grader to 'party-on' at the prospect of having a _gym_ teacher sub _English._

Henry however, came to a dead stop. "What?" he cried.

Rick – who had kept walking – stumbled forward a bit and turned, quite surprised by the kid's horrified expression. "She's…not…here today, Henry," he said slowly, stepping back towards his pupil. "I'm subbing next period for her since I'm free—"

"Where _is _she?" he cried. This was not good. Not good at all. Couldn't be coincidence. Could it?

"She's absent today—"

"Well I _know _that _now_!" he snapped. "Where _is _she?"

"Whoa, Hank…calm down—"

"Is she sick?"

"Henry—"

And 'Big Hank' did something that surprised even himself. He reached up and grabbed the gym teacher by the whistle around his neck and yanked the poor guy down to his level. Mr. Shields jerked and coughed as he crouched down, too surprised to react otherwise. "Please Mr. S," he pleaded. "Just tell me, did she call in sick?"

"I'm sure she's just…running late kid," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and snatching back his whistle.

"You mean you don't _know?_" he cried as a million worse-case-scenarios flooded his already hyperactive imagination. _She killed them! _he thought, irrationally. _Emma killed them both! _"I uh…I gotta go see the nurse Mr. S!" he said and, dodging out of Rick's grasp, sprinted down the hallway.

…

_The sparkling stone tile of the veranda gave her the impression that she was walking along a blanket of stars as he escorted her along the terrace. The air was warm and breezy – a perfect summer night it seemed – though she knew this to be impossible as it was still February back home, and the townsfolk of Ebonridge were stoking fires and warming themselves by their hearths. An amused smile graced her lips as she added it to list of impossible things she'd seen and experienced since agreeing to stay at the castle. To stay with him. _

"_Are you warm enough?" he asked in that low, growling timbre of his that had once inspired such fear. _

_She smiled as she brought her other hand up to clasp the one resting in the crook of his elbow, letting her fingers stroke over the scarred fur from his wrist up his forearm. "I was just thinking about that."_

_Beast looked down, his face as hideous and monstrous as ever, though she no longer noticed it. "Oh?"_

"_Yes. How is it that the night air feels as warm as a summer's eve and yet—"_

"_And yet beyond the castle, the wind howls with the onslaught of snow and ice?" he finished for her, nodding out toward the distant tree line with pines indeed blanketed by late winter flurries. _

_She nodded, licking her lips. She loved his way with words. She could tell almost instantly, even in the first few days of her captivity that he was well read and that, despite appearances, this was an incredibly intelligent and cultured being…if only he could control that temper._

"_The weather responds to my moods much as the house does. It is part of the enchantment," Beast replied, a faraway look in his eyes. "I am sure you noticed," he added quietly, "the gray skies and frozen rains when you first arrived, despite it being scarcely the beginning of autumn in Ebonshire."_

_She nodded. Goodness, had she really been here that long? It certainly didn't feel like it. As unlikely as it may have seemed to her at the time, her father's trespassing in Prince Adam's prized rose garden was quite possibly the most wonderful thing to ever happen in her otherwise provincial life. Of course, as soon as such thoughts crossed her mind, she felt instantly guilty…for she knew her father was back at home – alone and worrying._

_When Maurice had first returned with the rose – a gift she'd requested only so her poor father needn't feel obligated to purchase anything lavish for her at the convention – he had presented the rare bloom with the most frightful expression of terror and regret. He proceeded to tell her of that wretched night on his way home from the fair, when a pack of wolves had spooked Greatheart – their trusted Clydesdale – sending him bolting across forbidden terrain and quite far off the path that would have led Maurice safely home. Stumbling upon the famed Ebonshire Castle, about which so many tales had been spun since Prince Adam's return from the Goblin Wars, Maurice was most reluctant to enter through the swinging iron gates. Ebonshire's most decorated and beloved hero had been triumphant against Circe's forces at Bierden Ridge, but it was rumored that their honored prince had paid a terrible price for the victory. Reports ranged from the tamest of battle scars to the most horrific curse imaginable, but the prince had sentenced himself to a lifetime of isolation, returning home in the dead of night and seen only by his generals and staff. _

_Unfortunately, in Greatheart's panic, the poor mount had thrown a shoe and was quite lame, so Maurice had little choice but to accept this ghostly invitation to take shelter at the palace. To his immense surprise and relief, he was greeted at once by a rather suave maître d and treated with the most extraordinary hospitality, well cared for by the small but efficient palace staff. They sheltered him for two evenings while Chip, the stable boy, tended to Greatheart's shoe and swollen ankles. Maurice did think it odd that the prince himself never appeared during his stay, but with such overwhelming kindness (and he dared to think _friendship_) accorded him by the maître d, majordomo and head housemaid, he hardly thought the estate would mind if he took one bloom from their master's exquisite garden to bring back to his daughter. How sorely mistaken he'd been when no sooner had he plucked the blossom than their master at last appeared, bellowing for retribution. The instant Maurice turned his frightened gaze on the prince, he understood why His Highness had condemned himself to seclusion. The stories were true. Circe had indeed cast one of her infamous creature curses on the once exceedingly handsome royal, for it was not the face of a _man_ who tore after the poor merchant, but that of a horrid, gruesome beast. "_You dare to repay my benevolence and hospitality by stealing from me that which is most precious?_" he'd roared, insisting that such a crime on his grounds was punishable by death. Belle could hardly believe so severe a reaction to such an obviously innocent error and was further mortified to learn that Maurice's new "friends" – Messieurs Cogsworth and Lumiere – did not speak up on his behalf or offer any sort of interference. Only upon hearing that the rose was a gift intended for the old man's daughter did the beast reconsider, insisting, in exchange for release, that this daughter be sent back in his place. "_You shall have one week to make your good-byes and she must come to me of her own freewill if you are to truly be spared…and I have ways of knowing whether you have communicated the terms accurately,_" he'd decreed before having the old man thrown into an enchanted buggy and carried all the way back to town. _

_Belle of course brooked no opposition, and agreed to the terms at once, despite her father's protests that they should flee. Over the course of the week, the entire town seemed to arrive in droves to talk her out of it, including – she remembered derisively – Gaston, who seemed to think he had some sort of claim on her because she _once _allowed him to show her his room full of hunting trophies. Belle's mind, however, was made up, and at the conclusion of a week's time, Greatheart appeared at their small estate ready to carry her off. After a tearful farewell on their tiny front stoop, she went willingly, prepared to face a lifetime of servitude and imprisonment in exchange for her father's freedom._

Servitude and imprisonment_, she thought now with great amusement. How wrong she had been. How wrong she had been about everything. The relationship she had developed with 'Beast' (as he had insisted she call him, despite her protests that she be able to use his real name) could only be described in the initial months as…explosive. As soon as it became apparent to Belle that she was to be neither the monster's evening meal nor true prisoner in any sense of the word, she set about trying to reform him, soundly reprimanding him for his horrid behavior, his violent temper, his complete intransigence toward all matters of etiquette. And from the seeds of these initial quarrels blossomed the most unlikely of friendships, strengthened all the more by their shared passion for language and literacy. Why just this afternoon, she had convinced Beast to actually respond in writing to one of Prince Thomas's many invitations to court, rather than continue to ignore the fellow royal's attempts to reach out. King Christopher, it seemed, was throwing a ball at which the young prince was supposed to choose a bride. Thomas wrote that he could think of no better occasion for them to rekindle their childhood friendship than at this 'farcical attempt to subject him to the woes of matrimony' (as the younger prince put it) at which his Highness's presence 'would be greatly appreciated in helping him ward off the throngs of husband huntresses sure to attend.' While Belle understood the Beast's need to refuse (given his unfortunate cursed state), she insisted that he at least reply in kind to Thomas's request and acknowledge with gratitude the prince's efforts to renew their friendship, especially as the elder prince continued to keep secret his tragic fate from all neighboring kingdoms._

"_Belle?" he asked quietly beside her, shaking her from her reverie._

_She looked up, startled by how fragile, how anxious he suddenly seemed. "Yes?"_

"_Are you…happy here…with me?"_

_She halted their stroll and turned to face him, placing her tiny hands in his massive paws. "Yes Beast. I am. Very happy."_

_Even through his heavy layers of fur, she could feel him shiver as she took a tiny step forward and reached up to smooth a strand of his mane away from his eyes – such beautiful eyes, she thought. Deep pools of starlight that, despite his beastly form, struck her so majestically she hardly noticed any other feature. Tentatively, and shaking while he did so, Beast placed one massive hand around her tiny waist and pulled her close to him. "Then why have you not come to me?"_

_She started in his embrace, pulling back at once. "What?" she stuttered, confused._

"_You must find me, Belle…please…" he said, and to her horror, his face began to twist and contort before her, writhing into such distorted versions of his face that the motion made her nauseous. _

"_I don't…" she wheezed, suddenly breathless as she stepped back and clutched her stomach, "I don't understand…"_

"_Find me, Belle!" his voice streaked through her, the low, purring timbre replaced by that of a harried tenor, crying out of madness, out of sorrow. "Find me before it's too late!"_

_She reached out to him, terrified as his form continued to writhe and morph, "Rose!" he called out suddenly, and Belle gasped…for he was no longer a beast. He was a man...a man in a hospital gown…"Rose?" he called again as their two souls seemed to be pulling farther and farther away—_

"Rose!"

Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and were shaking her awake when she wrenched upward, gasping for air.

"Rose, wake up!" she heard a frightened cry and her eyes flew open at the familiar voice.

"S-sean?" she rasped, her coworker's worried face coming into focus as she slowly emerged from unconsciousness. His hands left her shoulders and she felt him slip one behind her back while the other came to support her arm, helping to tilt her forward and regain her bearings.

"Jeez, are you ok?" he said, steadying her as she sat up and tried to focus on…well, anything. Gradually, the room came into view and she came to remember where she was.

"Oh God, Sean…I'm sorry," she squeezed her eyes shut and held her hand to her head, trying to stop it from buzzing. They were at Garcon's, more specifically behind the bar, where she had propped herself up against an old worn pillow on top of stacks of newspapers and trash bags. Not the ideal place to be taking a nap, but it was the only place left she could think of where she had a chance of—wait a minute: "What are you doing here so early?" she asked suddenly, her eyes finally coming into focus.

Thomas settled back on his haunches, thankful at least for the moment that she was awake and alert, though still keeping one hand around her arm for support. "It's…Monday," he said guardedly.

Rose stared at him blankly, but implication finally sunk in when she glanced up and saw a half dozen brand new cases of lager sitting on the bar. "Oh!" she cried, slapping a hand across her forehead. "Monday," she said, embarrassed. "I completely forgot about the shipment," she reached up and grasped the edge of the bar, pulling herself up with one hand while pushing against Sean's with the other. The two of them stood, and Rose squinted as she stepped out of the unforgiving sunlight streaming in through the front window of their otherwise dim, unseemly bar. "God, I'm such a mess," she muttered, running her hands through her stringy, sweat-stained hair.

"Rose," Thomas said, following her as she reached down and grabbed the coat that she had spread beneath her to sleep on and then shimmied past him to grab her keys. "Are you sure you're—"

"Look, can you just…forget you saw me?" she said with an unconvincing laugh. "Really, I'm just…I feel so stupid I—"

"Rose!" he said again, grabbing her arm before she sped out the door. "You scared me half to death! I've been trying to wake you up for the past five _minutes_!"

Her mouth fell open in an inaudible 'oh' and she glanced up at the wall clock. 10:30? Goodness, had she really been here that long? "I uh…I'm sorry," she mumbled, shaking her head. "I haven't been sleeping well." She started to leave again, but Sean held her there.

"Hey," he forced her to look at him. "You really think you're gonna leave without telling me why you're here at 10:30 in the morning, sleeping on top of a bunch of garbage bags behind a _bar_?"

Rose winced. When he put it like _that_…

Thomas stepped a bit closer, resting his other hand on her shoulder. "What's going on?"

His concern was well-intentioned, she knew, but at the moment it did little more than remind Rose that there was _reason _to _be_ concerned. "It's nothing," she mumbled, looking away. But she said so without conviction, and she knew Sean wasn't fooled. She glanced back up at his rueful frown and sighed. "I just…I couldn't fall asleep at home, and I thought no one would be here for hours and…" she trailed off, annoyed with herself at how hollow she sounded.

Thomas dipped his head down, searching out her gaze again. "Is it…your father?" he asked.

She started, confused for a moment and then rolled her eyes. _Of course_, she thought stupidly. As far as Sean knew, Mo was still in the hospital. "No no," she said. "Nothing to do with that. He's um…" she glanced up and managed a small smile. "He's home, actually. We brought him home last night."

Thomas sighed. "Well that's…good isn't it?" he asked, relieved to hear things had improved with Maurice, though now even more perplexed at her befuddled state.

"Yes, very…" she admitted, ashamed she couldn't share in Sean's relief about her own dad. "I just…there's something…" she fumbled for words that simply didn't exist to accurately convey her stress. Had she a right to confide in Sean when she hadn't even told _Jack _yet? "Something I found out…at the hospital," she caved at last, knowing she could not hold off the tears forever and knowing that her favorite co-worker would never let her go once they spilled.

"Something…else?" he asked, squeezing her shoulder the way a brother might, urging her to continue. "Something _new_…with Mo?"

She shook her head, feeling a familiar salty sting behind her eyes. "No…with me."

"_You?_"

She nodded.

"Are you sick?" he assumed at once, and his concern was heart-breaking. _Sick,_ she thought morosely. _If only…_

"No," she whispered and stepped back from him, clutching her hands to her belly while she hung her head low. Eventually, she summoned the guts to look up, staring pointedly into his baffled gaze until gradually…realization dawned across his face.

Thomas's eyebrows shot up on his head. "_Oh_," he mouthed, finally understanding, though thoroughly nonplussed. Belle was…_pregnant_? "Oh…oh really…" He was stuttering now, wanting to slap himself for how stupid he sounded. "I didn't realize you…I mean…_who_ um—"

Her bottom lip trembled. "It's Jack's," she moaned, shaking her head against the shame of her confession. God, how had she screwed up so badly?

"Jack?" Thomas hollered, the force of his voice startling them both as she jerked back and he struggled to contain his temper. "_Jack_—as in Jack _Hunter_. Owns-this-_bar-_Jack."

"_Yes, _Sean…_that _Jack," she snapped and turned away, unable to look at her friend any longer as his shock (and no doubt disappointment in her) only amplified her own self-loathing.

Thomas shook with alarm as the synapses in his brain ceased firing. Jack Hunter—Gaston—_Gaston _got Belle pregnant? "Rose," he leapt toward her, thoroughly unable to mask his rage. "Did he..." he turned her around, noting her bleary eyes and mistaking their meaning. "Did he…did he _hurt _you?"

Rose's jaw dropped and she yanked her arm out of his grasp. "What?" she cried. "No! Of _course_ not! God, why would you think _that_?"

_Wouldn't be the first_ _time, _he thought angrily, though he had at _least _enough sense to keep _that _to himself. Thomas wouldn't soon forget the eve of Adam's wedding when that drunken buffoon snuck onto the grounds of Ebonshire Castle and somehow wheedled his way into Belle's suite. The engagement feast had long since concluded and many guests had retired for the evening, but James had foolishly challenged Adam to a game of chess before rejoining Snow in their chambers. To this day, Thomas couldn't quite figure out how Adam knew his beloved was in trouble nearly three floors up, but he was certainly glad he and James were still awake, for when the three of them walked in on Belle – just as she gave Gaston a well-deserved kick in the groin – it took _both_ Thomas and James together to keep Adam from beating the brute to a bloody pulp (not that the bastard didn't deserve it of course…but the entire _realm_ knewwhat Adam was capable of in battle).

"I'm…I'm sorry," Thomas stammered, holding his hands up and stepping back. "I just…I had no idea you and he were…I mean…Rose, you spend most of our shifts—"

"Complaining about him, I know," Rose conceded, adopting a less defensive tone. It was true. She'd displayed nothing but derision for Jack Hunter in public, mostly to mask her own embarrassment at having surrendered to the purely… physical needs he'd fulfilled. "I guess I can't…blame you for thinking that, but no—" she said firmly, determined at least with Sean to own up to her actions. "No, we've been…seeing each other for a while."

Thomas swallowed hard, noting the shame and regret in her voice and _loathing _himself for having reacted so badly. "Do you…" he treaded carefully, "…love him?"

And the question pushed her over the edge. "No!" she cried, the tears she'd held at bay now streaming down her cheeks. "No I don't," she sobbed, her face falling into her hands. "Not at all! It was…he…I was so s-stupid…"

Thomas rushed to her at once and cradled her against his shoulder, his heart breaking as she clung to him. He'd had a fondness for Belle from the moment they'd met, when not two hours after they'd been formally introduced, she had soundly admonished him for teasing Ella about her fondness for romance novels. In that instant, it was plain to see that Belle was Adam's match in every way, and she had been quite the surrogate older sister to Thomas ever since.

Rose shook with heavy sobs as the shock of Doc Stone's pronouncement hit her all over again, but she had to admit that Sean's embrace was somewhat of a comfort…not to mention oddly familiar. Why was it that she felt such a kinship suddenly for a young man she simply worked with?

"God, Rose, I'm so sorry," he whispered, wishing he could somehow will away her tears while simultaneously trying to work out the implications of Belle's news with respect to the curse. If Belle was pregnant with Gaston's child, could she _ever_ get her happy ending?

She hiccupped against his chest, letting out a hollow laugh. "Would you believe that's not even the worst part?" she cried, pulling back from him.

"It's not?" Thomas asked. _Good Lord, there was _more_?_

Rose shook her head and rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes, smudging the tears across her temples. "No. The worst part is—" she stopped herself, remembering suddenly how preposterous the whole thing was. No use having Sean thinking she was a tramp _and _a nut job. "Nevermind," she muttered and reached again for her coat.

"The worst part is what?" Thomas followed her.

"Nothing…it's…don't worry about it," she stumbled about the bar, gathering her things and readying once more to flee.

"Rose, come on—"

"No seriously, it's…it's just…it's gonna sound crazy—"

Thomas slammed his hand down on the bar, blocking the path between her and the exit. "_Try _me," he said with a slight smirk. _Crazy, _he thought hopefully. _In this town, crazy could be good_.

He was glaring down at her, obstinate and unyielding. And though she knew the rest to be ludicrous, she also knew she'd never escape without telling him the whole truth…and really, at this point…she might as well tell _someone_. "The worst part is the…dreams."

Thomas drew a sharp breath, determined this time to maintain his cool. "Dreams?"

Rose groaned and rolled her eyes, turning away from him. How could she possibly explain this without giving Sean the impression that it was time to call the Funny Farm? "Yes," she said. "Dreams…or more like nightmares. At least they always _end_ like nightmares."

"Nightmares…about the baby?"

Rose started. That was…eerily close. "Not…exactly," she said slowly, looking up and noticing no doubt in his expression. No judgment. She pressed on. "But I can't help feeling like…they're connected."

Thomas made no reply, but gestured for Belle to sit back on one of the stools. He joined her at the bar and nodded for her to continue.

"Well they—"she took a deep breath, then blew out a sigh. "No…this…this is nuts—"

"Tell me," Thomas insisted, covering his hand over hers atop the bar.

Rose stared at their clasped hands feeling suddenly motivated to continue. "Well…they kinda started around the same time….right before I…well, right when I…_found out._

Thomas nodded, but again just listened.

"A few nights ago, after my father _finally_ fell asleep …I got a bit restless. So I picked up a book and went for a walk and…somehow wandered up to the psych ward." She waited for a reaction, looking up cautiously at Sean. But he merely sat patiently, resting his elbow on the bar railing, waiting for her to continue. "I didn't even know Storybrooke General _had _a psych ward," she let out a weak laugh. "But there I was and…and I heard voices coming down the hallway and I panicked cuz I knew I probably didn't belong there so," she sucked in a breath, closing her eyes and seeing it all play out again before her. "I ducked into this…patient's room. And when I turned to look at him? I felt…I felt like I _knew _him." She opened her eyes again, startled by how intensely focused Sean was on her story…and not at all looking at her like she was crazy.

"Like you _knew _him," Thomas repeated slowly, cautiously. _Don't flip out again, Thomas…_ he said, acutely aware that he _must _not say the wrong thing here. Dammit where was James? He _always _said the right thing. "So you…you recognized this guy."

She nodded. "At first, he kinda…scared me. I mean, it's the _psych _ward."

There was that word again, and for a moment, Thomas had to dig back into 'Sean' to help him remember what exactly a 'psych' ward was. He was fairly certain that's what they called an asylum here…which, if his theory was correct, couldn't be good news for _anyone_, much less the man he _hoped_ Belle was referring to. "What did he…um," he cleared his throat, trying to achieve the right measure of passivity in his voice. He couldn't very well spring forward and yell _was it ADAM!_ now could he."What did he look like?"

Rose tilted her head, looking past him as she remembered so clearly – _too _clearly, she thought guiltily – the face of the man who had been haunting her. "Blue eyes," she said thickly, "blondish hair…tall – at least, he…he _seemed _tall." Goodness, she was actually _blushing. _She had _no_ idea if this man was tall. He was only ever standing…in the dreams…if he was a _man _at all. But the eyes…the eyes were always the same.

Thomas squeezed her hand, fighting the temptation to blurt out anything that would have made _him _sound crazy. "Blue eyes," he gulped. "So he…hesaw _you_ too?"

She nodded. "For a moment it…it even seemed h-he recognized _me_." She looked down then, cringing at the terrifying memory. "But then all hell broke loose and the doctors rushed in and had to hold him down and he started screaming and yelling at me—"

"What did he say?"

She blinked. "What?"

Thomas was close to hyperventilating. "What did he…I mean, do you remember what he was…um…yelling?"

Rose shivered. Of _course _she remembered. That awful night was burned into her retinas. "He…told me to run. In fact he begged me to. But—" she looked down, fidgeting with the material of her skirt. "He was obviously confusing me with his…his wife or his girlfriend or something."

"Why do you say that?" Thomas asked, trying not to crush her hand in his, the suspense slowly killing off his _own_ sanity one detail at a time.

Again her eyes closed, and again she saw his face staring down at her. _Belle…don't be afraid…_ "He called me…Belle."

Thomas had been leaning so far forward in his stool, he hadn't realized how close he was to the edge of it. Belle shrieked as he stumbled off, slipping from the cushion and falling clumsily into her shoulder before he caught himself and pushed himself back up. "S-sorry," he mumbled, regaining his balance. _Gods above…Adam was awake…and being held in an asylum._ "Belle huh? That's um…that's weird," he said, as offhandedly as he could muster.

She gave a weak shrug, deciding not to reveal that for a while now…it didn't feel _weird_ at all.

"And…these dreams? They're about…" he pushed her now, needing to know more.

Rose stared at him warily, wondering why he wasn't laughing at her yet, or at least glaring at her like she herself needed to be admitted to the psych ward. No, with the exception of his awkward stumble, Sean seemed just as invested in this story as she felt. Slowly, she nodded. "They're all about him." God, _why _was she admitting this out loud? But there was no going back now. "Every time I close my eyes," she said, her voice breaking. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't _think _about anything but him. And every time I dream, I get this feeling that…he's slipping away, or _I'm _slipping away…or…_something! _I can't tell! But when I wake up," she drew her free hand over her stomach and clutched the waist band of her skirt…near her womb. "I feel this awful pain right here. Like it's all…" she trembled and shook her head.

"Like it's all connected," he whispered.

She looked up. "I swear I'm not crazy—"

"I didn't say—"

"I mean I'm sure it _sounds _completely nuts—"

"You don't—"

"But I swear—"

"Rose!" he brought his hand up to cup her cheek, steadying her gaze and forcing her to quiet. "I don't think you're crazy. You're the _least_ crazy person I know."

Rose was panting now, unable to tear her eyes away. He _believed_ her. Or at least he was doing a very good job of pretending. "What am I gonna _do _Sean? How do I make them _stop_?" she sobbed. "I just want them to stop."

"Do you really?" he asked, removing his hand from her cheek and laying it once more on her shoulder.

She blinked at him, sniffling into her shirt sleeve. "Well I can't very well tell _Jack_ he's about to be a _father_ when I keep dreaming about another man can I? A _crazy _man no less—"

"But what if—" Thomas started, and then caught himself. A wonderful thought had just occurred…one he couldn't _possibly _share at the moment. "What if it's all…happening for a reason?" he managed, wishing like hell that James or Snow would walk in and help him out!

Rose reeled back. "Of _course _it's happening for a _reason_," she cried, suddenly breaking free and pushing herself off the stool. "I slept with a man I didn't love and ended up _pregnant_," she spat with disgust. "This is my brain's twisted way of punishing me for my mistake. Torturing with me with visions of a life I'll never—"

"I really don't think—"

"What else could it be?" she threw her arms up in the air as she paced. "I mean the guy," she gestured vaguely in the direction of the hospital, letting out a mirthless laugh, "the guy's an _Adonis _ok?_…_And the way he _looked _at me…I swear Sean, I know he thought I was someone else but he…for just a few seconds I felt like—like—"

"Like he loved you," he finished for her, the right words finally weaving their way into his head.

Rose gaped. "What?"

"Like he loves you," he amended, stepping forward. "You looked into his eyes and knew love, Rose. That's where love _is_." Her mouth hung open, but he wasn't fooled. Belle was in there _somewhere_. "Most people think it starts in the heart…they're wrong. It starts in the eyes."

Rose's throat went bone dry. _It starts in the eyes…_why did that sound familiar?

"When someone looks at you," he rasped, thinking instantly of Ella, "someone who loves you…it's…" he paused, reaching her in stunned silence. "It's magic, Rose. And if there's one thing world needs more of, it's magic."

"So…" she started carefully, still sniffling away a few stray tears. "So you don't think—"

"I don't think you're being punished," he shook his head, taking her hands tenderly in his. "I think someone's trying to tell you something…and I think you need to listen."

...

"Look, I don't know what your deal is here, but if you hurt my friends, I _swear _I'll make you regret it," Emma spat as she kicked her chair back and sprang to her feet. _I need you to do something for me_ he'd said. Like hell!

"Friends?" he leaned back in his chair, seemingly unruffled by her threat. "Don't you mean _parents_?" he grinned.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Great. So are _you_ reading Henry's book now _too_?"

The man started and immediately popped out of his chair. "Henry. You mean the queen's father?"

Her brow creased. "No, _Henry. _The mayor's adopted kid!"

A light bulb went off above his head. "Oh Henry. _Your _Henry. And his book of stories. The ones that you choose to ignore," he slithered over to her as she backed away toward the fireplace, swallowing hard as she stared down the barrel of the gun. "Maybe if you knew what I know…you wouldn't."

He'd backed her all the way to the balcony and her left elbow grazed the tripod of the telescope. She nodded toward it, deciding on a change of subjects. "Why have you been spying on me?" she whispered.

The madman glared at her, their noses just inches away from each other, and again Emma saw something shift in his eyes. Slowly, he slunk away from her and started pacing the room as he replied. "Because for the last 28 years, I've been _stuck_ in this house, day after day. Always the same. Until one night _you—_" he pointed the gun at her again, but she didn't flinch— "in your little yellow bug roll into town…and the clock ticks…and things start to change."

Emma's eyes slid shut and she took a deep breath, trying to process the last 24 hours with increasing difficulty. The note, the toll bridge, the _horse. _Evidence did seem to be piling up by the hour but to what end? The man was clearly psychotic. His beliefs, judging from the state of the house even more so than his own actions, had shattered his reality. Were David and Mary Margaret…not all that far behind? "Look," she said, splaying her hands out innocently in front of her. "_Clearly _you've glommed on to this whole…curse…thing—"

"The whole…'curse thing'?" he mimicked her, laughing.

"And you _obviously _overheard Mary—"

The man's head shot down, his laughing abruptly halted.

"Snow _White_—" she amended carefully— "talking about it. _They _believe too, ok? They're not a threat to you. Why don't you let them go—"

"Because _you_ still don't get it, Emma, though it's been staring you right in the face for months."

She lowered her hands. "What?" she asked quietly.

"Let them go," he scoffed. "Do you think those two would ever _leave_ here without you?" he gestured toward the hallway again. "And if I _did _let them go, what kind of leverage would that leave _me_?"

"You don't have to do this—"

"You see, I know what you refuse to acknowledge, Emma," he continued, ignoring her attempts to reason and circling around her so that his head rested on her shoulder and his lips just barely grazed her ear. "You're special," he whispered and it sent a shiver down her spine. "You brought something precious to Storybrooke…magic."

"You're insane," she shoved him away from her and stumbled back toward the table.

"Because I speak the truth?"

"Because you're talking about _magic_."

"I'm talking about what I've seen. Perhaps you're the one that's mad," he advanced on her, the threat of his firearm still preventing her from contriving any viable options.

"Oh really?" she fell back into the chair.

"What's crazier than seeing and not believing? Because that's exactly what you've been doing since you got to our little hamlet." He stepped behind her chair and leaned over her, planting his hands on either side of her as he bent over her shoulder. "Open your eyes, Emma. Isn't it about time?"

"Time for what?" she snapped.

"Time for you…to get it to work."

She jerked her head up. "Get _what _to work?"

"You're the only one that can do this," he said, reaching behind him for one of the hats on the shelf and throwing it down in front of her. "And you're gonna get it to work."

_Get it to work? _She thought, panicked. _Get it to work…get the _hat_ to work? To work _how_? To do what? _Emma juddered her gaze between the enormous top hat and the other elements of the room. Taking it all in at once, perhaps for the first time today, something clicked in her memory and she wrenched her gaze up at him. "The hats…the tea…your psychotic behavior. You think you're the Mad Hatter!"

The man winced at the name, but his reaction was not volatile. "My name is Jefferson," he muttered as he retreated back around the table and returned to his own seat.

"The Mad Hatter," she repeated, more for herself than for him. "From Alice in Wonderland. A book. A book I actually read—"

"Who's Alice?" he asked, dead-panned.

"What?" she blinked. _Was he serious? A story she finally _knew _and—_

"Who's Alice?" he asked again. "Perhaps a girl who found her way into our world one day? Decided to write about it?"

Emma sighed. "They're just stories—"

"Stories. _Stories_," he scoffed. "What's a story? When you were in high school, did you learn about the Civil War?"

"Yeah of course."

"How? Did you read about it perchance in a book?"

"Jefferson—"

"How is that different than any other book?"

"Ok…granted," Emma countered, tucking one leg underneath her as she leaned forward, "But even if you want to believe you're from _Henry's _book, you're still in _this _world," she held her hands out wide. "The _real _world. Where there is no—"

"_A _real world. One of many!" He planted his hands on the table once again and rose toward her. "There are infinite more, and they touch one another, pressing up in a long line of lands, each just as real as the last. All have their own rules. Some have magic, some don't. And some _need _magic. Like this one. And that's where _you_ come in. You have to _open your mind_."

Tears unexpectedly stung her eyes, and she gasped, unable to help herself as she drifted back a few hours to the forest. _"Please," Mary Margaret said softly, "Try to open your mind. Try to open yourself up to the possibility that the family you've been searching for…is right here in front of you."_

She sat back, staring blankly in front of her. "What do you want from me?" she whispered…though she wasn't _really_ addressing her abductor anymore.

Coolly, he picked up a pair of scissors and tossed them to her, the handles landing right beside the brim. "You're going to _make _my hat. You're going to get it…to _work_."

She sniffled, her eyes darting around at all the unfamiliar materials. "Don't you have enough?" she muttered, trying to recompose herself.

"Well none of them work do they? Or else you wouldn't be here. That hat is one of many doorways, and _you, _your Highness, are the key that unlocks it."

She shook her head, "I don't—"

"You have magic. You can do it."

Hands trembling, she reached for the scissors and picked a stray piece of felt from a pile of scraps. This was just too much for anyone to stomach in one day. First she's the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and now she has _magic_? Shaking, she glanced up at him watching her intently as he paced in front of the fireplace. "So I make your hat…and then what?" she asked quietly.

He paused and to her surprise, he glanced not at the table but at the telescope. "Then I go home."

Emma let out another gasp. _This is your father, I'm your mother…and all the bullshit you think is going on here…is just _us _trying to get _home. "Wh-where's home?" she asked hoarsely.

The hatter glared at her, clearly trapped between his own impatience and the knowledge that in order for the princess to truly accomplish anything…she must _believe_. With a sigh, he pointed his gun in the direction of the telescope. "Take a look," he ordered.

Emma, too overwhelmed to do anything but comply, rose at once and stepped up toward the eye piece. For a second, she expected to see the sheriff's office or Mary Margaret's house magnified before her. He'd already admitted to spying on her after all. So when her eyes fell on a beautiful young girl with two long brown braids falling down her shoulders, flanked by two loving parents sitting down to breakfast, her breath hitched in her throat and her breathing turned ragged.

"Like everyone else here, what I love has been ripped from me," he said despairingly. "Her name is Grace. _Here_ it's Paige…But it's Grace. My Grace. Do you have any idea what it's like to watch her day in and day out? With a new family? With a new father?"

"You think she's your daughter?" she rasped, unable to take her eyes from the girl.

"I don't think," said Jefferson, and he yanked her away from the scope. "I know. I remember. She has no idea who I am. Our life together…where we come from…I do. _That's_ my curse."

The raw emotion in his voice bore no trace of irony. The contrived giddiness of the hatter had vanished completely now. And in his place stood a man whose words might just as well…have been spoken by David. No, she thought…_not_ David… "James…"

"What?"

She started, her eyes moist and red. "James," she whispered again as a salty tear slid into her mouth. And suddenly, she knew what she needed to do. "James a-and Snow. I…I need them." She looked up at him, pleading. "If I'm gonna…make _your_ hat…I need my…m-my _parents_." Her lip was quivering, but she couldn't believe the _relief_ she felt at saying it out loud.

Jefferson studied her warily, himself on the alert now, searching for signs of deceit. There were none. "So you're gonna help me? You can…get it to work?"

She hesitated only a moment more, then turned to him and nodded. "I can," she said, glancing back at the workstation, a downright herculean task before her. But at the moment she didn't feel discouraged. She couldn't. All she felt…was her parents' faith. And Jefferson was right…it was magic.

…

*****Ok…so...Emma's taking her sweet old time, but she's almost there! And that covers a **_**little **_**more Belle/Adam. I don't typically like to make dream sequences so linear and "expositiony," but I felt the backstory was necessary since I'm departing the furthest from most familiar canons of the story.**

**DISCLAIMER****: At this point, I must give credit to Robin McKinley's young adult novel **_**Beauty**_**. It is from this WONDERFUL version of our favorite 'tale as old as time' that I borrowed the horse's name Greatheart. **_**Beauty **_**also draws on more classic versions of the tale where the crime of Beauty's father is trespassing and stealing from the rose garden (rather than just…you know…looking at 'im funny!).**

**All the other stuff – Goblin Wars, Circe, Ebonshire, Adam's a war hero – was born purely of a personal desire give Adam a little more of an edge than having just been a whiny 10-year-old turning away an old hag in the rain.**

**I promised a few of you some more of Kathryn in this. She unfortunately didn't make the cut, but she and Rick Shields feature together for a bit in the next chapter, so don't worry. I haven't forgotten her (or you!). We'll also see where Henry skipped off too (as we all know 'I have to go to the nurse' is the universally accepted code for…time to skip class!)**

**Thanks to Katerina and The Pris for some kick a** commentary and input, as well as all recent subscribers. The conclusion of the hatter scene is fully fleshed out in my head but not quite coming out right on paper yet (plus I'm tired and am going out of town soon…so I wanted to get this out) Thanks as always for the continued readership. Ciao for now!*****


	22. Saving the Savior

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Saving the Savior**

It was bad enough that Snow seemed to be missing. Mr. Shields's _I'm sure she's just running late, kid _was certainly proof that the school didn't really _know _where Mary Margaret Blanchard was. But when he arrived at the sheriff's office and found it empty, true panic set in. Surely she wasn't out on a call already. This was _Storybrooke. _Nothing ever happened here. Nervously, he jogged a bit down the square and was a little relieved when he spotted Emma's yellow bug parked in front of Collodi's. Quickening his pace, he ran up to the fix-it shop and garage and pulled on the handle…it was locked. With a gulp, he peeked through the glass windows but could see nothing of Geppetto let alone Emma. When he stepped back, he noticed a cardboard **Back By:** clock sign suctioned to the window with 2 red plastic hands pointing to 12. _Maybe _his mom had gone out somewhere with the old man, but he doubted it. He strained his neck around and looked up at the town clock tower. 10:47. According to the sign, Geppetto wouldn't be back until noon. The minutes were ticking by and Henry grew more and more anxious. The morning _after_ Emma read that note, both she and Snow were missing: what were the chances that this was coincidence? In this town? Less than slim. And though he'd gotten over his initial, rather comical fears about how Emma might have reacted, legitimate fears were rapidly sinking in.

It was almost 11. He couldn't just stand here waiting. He had to do _something_, if only to lessen the odds of someone stopping him and asking why he wasn't in school. Without a clue as to how he might get in touch with Pops right now, Henry decided there was only one place left to go – someone with a penchant for thinking things through logically and calmly. Someone…like Jiminy Cricket.

Mission in hand, Henry sprinted across the square to the little green door of the little white shop that stood sandwiched between two office buildings. The soles of his sneakers whacked rhythmically across the pavement until he was almost upon it and then he froze, ducking behind a metal trash receptacle. _Sonuvagun! _There was Geppetto! He was jogging up the front steps to the green door. Henry must have _just _missed him leaving Collodi's. Heart racing (but also feeling kinda cool…almost like a secret agent) Henry crept towards the building and followed Geppetto inside, maintaining enough distance between them so the old man wouldn't suspect.

Peeking through one of the side panes that flanked the door, he watched as Geppetto continued down the long hallway and turned into the stairwell. Once the coast was clear, he sucked in a breath and pulled on the handle, stepping into the small foyer and straining his ear toward the ceiling as the door latched behind him. The walls were so thin in this old building, he could hear Geppetto walking the upstairs hallway to knock on Jiminy's office door. He chewed on his bottom lip. Getting up those rickety stairs would be a challenge. With a deep breath, Henry turned and quietly paced down the hallway and peered around the corner into the stairwell. Thinking for a moment, he stopped and removed his shoes and proceeded to creep up the stairs in his socks, taking each step slowly and with extreme care. Once at the top, he could hear voices. Geppetto had gone into Jiminy's office and they were talking, but he'd left the door open! The voices were muffled of course, but Geppetto sounded agitated. After setting his shoes down in the corner of the landing, Henry removed his bookbag and placed it beside the sneakers. Then, with entirely more stealth than the situation probably warranted, Henry skulked along the hall, tucking himself into the recesses made by closed office doors along the way. Once he was far enough to distinguish between the voices, he stopped, held his breath and listened.

"I fear I may be making a mountain from a mole hill, but I confess there are some things that have me worried," Geppetto was saying.

Henry heard what sounded like chair legs being scraped across the floor. "Really?" came Jiminy's voice. "What's happened?"

Geppetto told Jiminy of a strange email he'd received from Michael Tillman. Henry drew a sharp breath for it sounded like the old man had grown just as skeptical about Michael's disappearance as Henry had. And much _more _so than Emma, it seemed. "I have known Michael for years. It just…isn't like him to leave without an explanation."

"Must have been something very serious then."

"Perhaps but—ah, I just don't know. It feels…off."

"I agree," Henry could picture Jiminy nodding and adjusting his glasses. "A bit unsettling."

"But that's not all, Arch. You remember I told you I'd hired that young man who was in the paper a few weeks ago?"

"The guy in the coma?"

Henry's eyes shot open. Geppetto had hired Pops? When did _that _happen?

"That's right, David Nolan."

"What about him?"

Geppetto let out a strained, old-man sigh. "Well, I hired him on to help out with some of the repairs, you know. _Many _things lately, now that the tree lighting is almost upon us."

"Yeah?"

"Well…it seems Mr. Nolan is missing too."

"What?" Henry cried, his cover blown and he didn't care. He sprinted the length of the hallway and burst into the office as both Geppetto and Jiminy leapt out of their chairs.

"Henry!" Jiminy cried. "What are you—"

"He's gone? David Nolan is gone?"

"Dear boy!" Marco cried, "You nearly—"

"Please Mr. Collodi, I know I shouldn't be here. And I'm _really _sorry for snooping. But you gotta tell me. Why do you think Mr. Nolan is missing?"

Marco looked over at Archie, flabbergasted. What in the world was going _on _today?

"Henry," Archie recovered, stepping over to the boy. "Why aren't you in school?"

Henry glanced up at his shrink, looking sheepish. "I ditched."

"Henry!"

"I'm sorry! I just—" he shook his head and looked back at Geppetto. "You said it yourself. This stuff has you worried. Well _me _too. Miss Blanchard wasn't in school today…and I can't find my mom."

Marco darted his head down at the boy. "The _mayor _is gone?"

"No," Archie said, eyeing his patient very differently. "He means Emma Swan."

"Oh of course!" Marco said, pointing at Archie. "I think I that's _her_ car parked outside my shop. I assumed she'd gone into Tony's but—" he looked back to Henry, "no?"

"No."

"Henry," Archie cleared his throat. "What do you mean Miss Blanchard wasn't in school today? Is she sick?"

The boy shook his head vehemently. "Doesn't look like it. And Emma wasn't at the station. Archie…" he reached forward and tugged on Jiminy's jacket sleeve, fisting a clump of tweed in his little hand and pulling the doctor into a crouch. "You _know _what this means."

Archie slid his eyes closed and pushed his glasses up on his nose. Sadly, he glanced up at his friend before answering. "The curse Henry?" he asked, though the doubt in his voice was clear.

Henry sighed. He _knew _the doctor didn't believe him about Storybrooke. Not _really_. But he had hoped the mysterious disappearance of Prince Charming, Snow White _and _their daughter all at the same time might rattle the cages a bit.

"What…curse?" asked Marco, eyeing the young lad most peculiarly.

Henry turned, prepared to issue his standard 'need-to-know' cover for those outside Operation Cobra, but he was startled to find no skepticism in Geppetto's voice. Nor could he detect anything beyond curiosity in his gentle eyes. He gulped as he beheld them both: Geppetto the Master Craftsman and Jiminy Cricket. Two people he knew Prince Charming would trust with his life. What would Pops do? he asked himself, and thought back to that night at the pawn shop when James stalked inside to save his daughter from making another fateful deal. Pops would take a risk, he thought. Pops would take a risk to protect his family. "Here's the deal, Marco," he turned to fully face Geppetto. "Storybrooke…is not a real town. It was once an enchanted forest. You know…like in fairy tales?"

Marco didn't budge. He didn't even blink. Merely listened.

"Well, everyone was living there, happily ever after, until the evil queen sent them all to live _here_…with the curse. For _years_ you've all been trapped…frozen in time by the curse without your happy endings. Frozen…until Emma arrived. _She's_ the savior. _She's_ the one who has to bring back the happy endings. And David Nolan and Mary Margaret? They're Snow White and Prince Charming…Emma's parents."

Marco stared at him, quite mystified. The tale seemed to be complete for the boy had taken a huge laborious breath, as if he'd just run a mile, and was now waiting for a reaction. The whole thing was preposterous, of course. Evil queens, curses, Snow White and an enchanted forest: quite fanciful, and yet…he couldn't seem to find the words to respond. In fact, he couldn't seem to react at all.

"Henry," Archie said after a time and proceeded to chastise the young lad for skipping out of school. Marco remained silent while they squabbled, the child's whimsical tale churning around in his mind. _For years you've all been trapped…frozen in time by the curse without your happy endings…without your happy endings…_

"I know how strongly you believe in this curse, Henry, but it's not an excuse to cut class—" Archie was saying.

"Of course it is! Think about it—what are the odds that Prince Charming _and _Snow White go missing at the _same_ _time_?"

The argument went back and forth but Marco could only half listen. _It was once an enchanted forest. You know…like in fairy tales? _The old mechanic shook his head and drifted back a few days, recalling a very strange charcoal sketch and two _very_ amusing young men…

"_If anyone can do this," said David, "It's you."_

"_I have never built anything from scratch. And if I did, I certainly would __start __with something like _this_. I don't even think it's possible, Sean. This—" he thrust his forefinger at the drawing— "is the stuff of fairy tales."_

_Sean cleared his throat and softened his tone. "That's true, Marco," he said. "And that's exactly what I want for Ashley. A fairy tale"…_

"Please, Archie. Just help me _find _them," Henry whined. "Wouldn't Storybrooke be much better off if we found the deputy before—"

"Henry," Marco said at last, startled by how hoarse he sounded. Both Archie and the boy turned to him. "In this…enchanted forest," he said clearing his throat.

"Yeah?" Henry jumped towards him.

"Who…" he started, hesitating as he looked between Archie and the child… _If anyone can do this…it's you…_ "Who…was I?" he asked at last.

Marco never saw Archie so astonished but he barely had time to notice, for the child's face broke into an enormous grin as he bounced up and down in his socks. Henry glanced up between them – Archie still completely stunned while Marco waited anxiously. With a clever, almost devious grin, the boy leaned forward and asked, "You ever read Pinocchio?"

…

Snow and James stood on opposite sides of the room, running their hands over the papered surfaces looking for tricks or latches or weaknesses in the walls. It was a fruitless endeavor; that they both knew. But neither royal had ever been good at just sitting still. "Anything?" James asked as he replaced another upside-down portrait back where it had been hanging.

"No," Snow grunted, using her hip to push aside an empty bureau, the doors of which had been re-hinged upside-down. While it scraped along the floor, James thought he heard faint clicking sounds. He snapped his fingers at Snow who stopped immediately. They both turned to the door and Snow let out a small gasp when she saw shadows moving beneath it. Just then, they heard the padlocks on the other side start to rattle and clank. Someone was unlocking the room. Glancing at Snow, James laid his index finger to his lips and gestured his head toward the entrance. Snow nodded and crept along her wall to the doorway, tip-toeing right up to the frame. James retrieved the chair Snow had been tied to earlier and positioned himself on the other side, ready to strike the assailant from behind. They nodded to each other and drew sharp breaths as the last lock was undone. The door creaked open.

"Snow?" she heard softly from between the crack…and then Emma pushed her way inside.

Snow's heart leapt as the door swung open and immediately, she threw her arms around her daughter. "Emma!" she whispered fiercely, "You're ok." Her eyes slammed shut and she squeezed tight, her fears and doubts eradicated as she breathed in the genuine warmth of a daughter's love.

Emma squeezed too, returning the embrace in full as she glanced up at James over Snow's shoulder. Robotically, the prince set the chair he'd been shouldering down beside him and watched in awe, overwhelmed by the sight of mother and daughter reconciled at last. He didn't move, for he didn't _dare _interrupt Snow's reunion. But when Emma looked up at him and nodded, her eyes puffy and a little red, his joy was so intense it bordered on painful. The dread he'd felt after that first hostile exchange in the woods now twisted itself free from his gut, and James sucked in a breath, steadying himself against the relief that washed over him, managing at last, a genuine smile as he beamed down at his daughter with a grateful nod.

Emma smiled back – wondering briefly how she'd ever looked into his crystalline gaze and _not _known he was her father – and then eventually pulled away. The three of them stood still for a moment; words of course were utterly inadequate which was ironic for there was so much she wanted to ask. So much now she wanted to know. But it certainly wasn't the time or the place, and it was perhaps a fortunate reprieve from more emotional upheaval that her parents suddenly became aware of Jefferson standing behind her, watching them warily – his gun still held down at his side.

Snow's attention shifted to the madman and immediately launched on the offensive. "You!" she yelled and started forward, heedless of the gun and shoving her way through the door as the group trailed behind her and spilled into the odd little lounge. Snow nearly reached him, but Emma held her off.

"Wait!" she cried, stepping between them and pulling Snow back into James who rushed up behind her. "He's all right. He…" she paused, looking back at the hatter who, in response to Snow's understandable outrage, had sprung back toward the checkered hallway and raised his gun. "He just wants our _help_," she glowered over at him.

Jefferson glared at the ebony-haired princess, impressed by – though still wary of – her legendary tenacity. Gradually, he lowered the gun. "My apologies…your Majesty," he gave a slight bow, before tucking the gun behind him, holstering it in his back waistband, and raising his arms in a truce. "Your reputation precedes you."

"What does _that _mean?" she snapped.

Jefferson chuckled. "It means that while your nickname among the gentry was the _Fairest_—"

James clamped his hand down on his wife's shoulder, holding her back—

"Your commoners more often referred to you as…the _Fearless_," he bowed again.

Snow's eyes narrowed as she shrugged her husband's hand from her shoulder and crossed her arms. "Is that why you _drugged _and _dragged _me through the forest?"

Jefferson took a step forward and Emma held her breath as the hatter glanced down at Snow. "Yes," he said. James stifled a laugh.

"He's just trying to get home," Emma explained as she eased her mother away from the nice man in the hat. "And he thinks," she glanced nervously back at the hatter and then over to James. "He thinks _I _have the power to do it."

James stepped out from behind Snow. "You?"

She nodded. "He says I…" her gaze darted between them. "He says I have magic." Emma watched as her father's brow creased in confusion. He glanced at Snow who seemed equally perplexed. This was _not _a good sign. Not the reaction she'd hoped for, but she decided to press on regardless. "Is he right?" she asked, looking between them. "Do I have…like, _powers_ or something?"

"Of course you do—" griped Jefferson, but Emma whirled on him and cut him off.

"Hey!" she barked. "Do you mind?" she looked back to her parents. "Look I know I'm new to this whole princes and castles and-and fairies thing but…I figure if I'm…the _savior_—" she rolled her eyes, as irked by _that _word as Snow seemed to be about _'fairest'_— "then I figure there's a chance, right? And if anyone would know—"

"Of course there's a chance!" the hatter squabbled, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor and rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "She brought magic _back _to town," he barked at Snow and James. "Why do you think the clock started ticking—"

"That doesn't mean she has magical _powers_—" started Snow.

"True love's kiss," James muttered suddenly and both women whirled their heads around. He looked down at Snow, "True love's kiss!" he said again.

"What?" Snow reeled back.

Emma's hand came to her hip as jammed her thumb toward Jefferson. "I am _not _kissing—"

"No," James shook his head and cringed, "no that's not—" he sighed and started again. "We've always said 'true love's kiss is the most powerful thing of all' right? It breaks any curse?"

"Right?" Snow said, wife and daughter eyeing him warily.

"Well I don't know about you, but I always took that to mean that love…" he shook his hands and shrugged, searching for the words, "you know just… conquers all. Love can _overcome_ any magic." Emma still looked thoroughly confused, but understanding dawned in Snow's face. "But what if love really _is…_magic?" he said. "Literally."

An image flashed in Snow's mind. "If you can bottle love, you can do anything," she droned, recalling that horrid afternoon she'd sought out Rumpelstiltskin's help in plotting revenge against the queen. She grasped her husband's arm. "He was _serious_ James. He was actually _trying_ to bottle love." In her weakest hours, unable to bear the pain of a broken heart, she drank one of the imp's potions which turned her heart cold. For years she had wished she could forget that awful few weeks when she'd mistreated her friends and surrendered herself to darkness. Now, she was thankful she hadn't.

"_What_ are you _talking_ about?" Emma snapped, both hands at her waist now as she rested her weight over one hip.

Snow turned to her daughter. "Rumpelstiltskin once told me that love…is the most powerful magic of all. Now I wasn't really listening at the time because…well, that's another story. But I assumed he was being metaphorical. Like James said – Love conquering all? –like-like needing Courage to defeat the hydra or Wisdom to face the sphinx."

"But if he was serious," James stepped toward her, "about bottling love—"

Snow snapped her eyes shut, trying to picture 'Stiltskin's lair. "He had a space for it. On his shelf in his cabinet."

"And _he's _the one who told us that you would be the key," James added, clenching his fists at his sides. "He _knew _you would come back, that you would escape the curse and be able to fight it."

"He had a lock of my hair—"

"And my cloak—"

"Umm, hello!" said the hatter, waving furiously behind them, "could we possibly quibble over our past blunders _after _she _makes _my _hat?_"

"Shh!" Snow snapped and turned right back to James. "We were so _foolish_. He _can't_ _see_ the future. Rumpelstiltskin _knew _how that curse would work because he _made _it! He made it with _us _in mind, James."

"First rule of dark curses," James remembered suddenly. Gods above, he'd practically _admitted _it in the shop. "Always leave an exit clause."

"Which means what?" Emma cried, feeling strangely more like a daughter now than ever before. Exactly what were they talking about and why wasn't she in on it?

"Which means, princess," Jefferson suddenly chimed in and draped his arm over Emma's shoulders, "that you're even more powerful than _I_ realized…if you're part of a curse built by the Dark One himself."

The color drained from Emma's face as her heart sank to her stomach. "I'm…I'm _part _of the curse?" she rasped, stumbling backward.

"No," James said sternly, shooting a glare at the hatter who backed off instantly as the prince stepped over to his daughter. "No not at all. In fact just the opposite."

"The curse works by destroying people's happy endings. By taking away what they _love_," Snow said softly, "Oh James, why didn't we think of it before?"

"We _did_ though," he answered as Snow came up beside them. "In a way. Restore all the happy endings. Isn't that what we've been trying to do?"

Emma jerked her head back and forth between the two. "I'm sorry, but could you guys _please _start making sense?"

"_Love_, Emma," James squeezed her hands. "Regina used Stiltskin's curse to take _away _Love. Can't havea happy ending without it. But you—" he looked straight into her eyes, "you brought it back. When you road into town with Henry, you brought Love back to Storybrooke."

Emma started, shaking her head. "_What_ does that _mean_?"

"It means that before you came, the only magic here was dark magic. Magic Regina has been using to maintain the curse. But _you _are the result of _our _love—" Emma shuddered at her father. That just sounded…icky. But she kept listening— "Love that Stiltskin must have figured out how to harness into _actual_ magic."

"You're not _part _of the curse, Emma," Snow placed a hand on her daughter's back. "You're its Achilles heel," she glanced at James. "_Love…our _love."

"So…" Emma started slowly, "if he turned love into magic...into…_me_—"

"Then _you_," Snow said with a grin, "must be more powerful than the queen herself."

James felt her hands slacken as they slipped out of his own and his daughter shrunk away from them.

"That," she stammered, thrusting her palms out in front of her, "That's just…nuts." _More _powerful than the _queen_? She gulped. "No…no that can't be…I mean I don't _feel _like I…" What exactly _did _she feel like? (A _drink_…that's what she felt like. She needed a drink).

Reading the stricken expression on her daughter's face, Snow returned to her side at once. "I know…it seems like a lot."

"A _lot?_" Emma cried, yanking her hands through her hair. "I came in here hoping you could teach me a few…I dunno _tricks_. You know a little hocus pocus? Magic spells? Harry Potter type stuff!"

James glanced at Snow. "Harry Potter?"

Snow shook her head.

"And suddenly I'm some sort of all powerful, ramped up version of Cupid who can destroy the _queen_? Don't you think there'd be some _proof _of that?"

"There _is _proof!" Jefferson said impatiently as he leaned his back against the archway, thunking his head against the molding. "The clock. Has started. To tick!"

"Shut up!" Emma growled.

"He's right though," James came to her other side. "When you arrived, _time _unfroze."

"When you decided to stay, the sink hole appeared and you uncovered the mines."

"When you helped Ashley and her baby…Thomas woke up."

"Thomas?"

"Her prince."

"And last night," Snow reached out and brushed one of Emma's long blonde locks off her shoulder, "the animals led us to the dwarfs' cottage…all because of you, sweet girl."

An image of Henry flashed before Emma's eyes, just after she'd rescued him from the sink-hole. _"Things _are_ changing," _he'd said with that crafty grin of his as they'd listened to the sounds of crickets chirping sweetly, returning to Storybrooke. She opened her eyes and looked at Snow…and then James…and then took a deep breath. "Ok," she said, turning toward the hatter. "Let's do this."

…

Kathryn Nolan couldn't make heads or tails of anything. Why the hell was David's car just sitting behind Mr. Gold's shop with no signs of a struggle? Why hadn't Regina told her _immediately_ of these rumors about him and Mary Margaret Blanchard? Better yet, why hadn't _she _heard about these rumors? Wasn't the wife usually clued into these kinds of things a bit sooner than the _mayor? _And if they _were _having an affair, why in God's name would Regina have _also _heard she and David were planning on starting a fucking family! And oh…by the way…where the hell was the sheriff?

By noon, it felt like her head was about to split in two. After leaving City Hall, she'd wandered around Storybrooke a bit more, searching the square, the corner market, Granny's. She'd even driven out to West End to see if the notorious Garcon's was some meeting place of theirs, but when she'd peeked in the window, all she saw was what looked to be Mitchell Herman's son comforting a young woman. The pain and strife stricken across her face made Kathryn wonder if this woman going through the same hell that _she_ was, and it so infuriated her that she marched straight back to her car, drove back to the town square and skidded into the parking lot of Storybrooke Elementary. In truth the possibility of an affair did nothing to explain why David's car was parked at the pawn shop. But that didn't matter right now. Not when she'd finally summoned the courage to confront the little home-wrecker at her place of work, to humiliate her the way she'd humiliated herself this morning in front of the mayor.

This thirst for vengeance, the bitterness filling her heart made her tremble, and even when she shut off the gas and undid her seat belt, a terrible feeling gnawed at her gut – a warning, she felt, that this was _not _the way to handle it. For several minutes she sat in her parked car, wondering if maybe Regina had been mistaken. If something had just gone terribly wrong and David was out there in some real trouble.

But no…No, for some reason, the idea of _betrayal_…it felt…more familiar to her. And that was terrifying. Why did the idea of David and Mary Margaret together make so much _sense_? Why was it so _easy _to believe? And why did she feel like going into that school would confirm _all _of her fears and change her life _forever_? At this point, there was only one way to find out, and the fear of _not _knowing soon overpowered the fear of what she might discover. With a heavy sigh, she summoned up the courage and walked into the school.

The school bell rang just as she pushed through the heavy double doors, and the rivers of kids eddying around her left her quite disoriented in her already agitated state. Feeling claustrophobic, she ducked into the front office and stumbled up to the desk.

"Can I help you?" came a little voice from behind the counter. Kathryn looked up at the tiny woman seated behind a small workstation, her fingers working deftly over a computer keyboard.

"Um, ex-excuse me?" her eyes darted around the office. Something felt very strange in this place. Why did she suddenly feel dizzy?

"Can I _help _you, dearie?" the secretary asked again, her tone decidedly annoyed.

"Y-yes, sorry. I'm looking for um…Mary Margaret Blanchard?"

"She's not here," came a voice behind her. She turned…and her heart stopped. A man in dark blue hoody and windbreaker pants stood in the office entrance, a duffle bag thrown casually over his shoulder and a binder tucked under his arm. He was a little taller than her, but not by much, and his brown hair was loose and swept back on his head, a few stray strands hanging down in front of his eyes. "Ma'am?" he asked tentatively. "You all right?"

Kathryn blinked, paralyzed to the spot for some reason. But she somehow managed to croak out a reply. "I um…" she stammered, recovering from her stupor and finally registering what the man had told her. "She's not _here_?"

Rick Shields drew a deep breath. He'd had his share of odd moments, odd days. But none as strange as the way this day was turning out (After Henry Mills had freaked out and run off, he'd started to think…and try as he might, he couldn't remember a single day of school that Mary Margaret Blanchard had _ever_ missed. _He'd_ certainly never been asked to sub for her. In fact, as he'd sat in the lounge pondering even further, he hadn't subbed for _anyone_ since…well, for as long as he could remember). But those oddities paled in comparison to the woman standing before him now…this beautiful, tortured soul who, like Henry, seemed deeply distressed to find Mary Margaret absent. "No I uh, I subbed for her this morning and—"

"You need to sign in and get a visitor's pass if yer gonna stay, sweetheart," said the pithy little secretary. Kathryn wasn't listening. She wasn't _here. Mary Margaret's not here and David is missing!_…_oh my God_…

Rick eyed her carefully. Something definitely wasn't right. The woman didn't even seem to have heard the secretary. "Relax Bethany," he told the old bat, deciding he could at least take care of the paperwork. He took a pen attached to a chain on the counter and slid the sign-in clipboard in front of him. "What's your name?" he turned to ask her and blinked in shock as she was already backing toward the door.

"What?" Kathryn shook her head, "Oh…no, I'm not staying—"

Confused, he set the pen back down. "Are you ok? You look a bit—"

"No no…I can't…" she spluttered and spilled back into the hallway. "I'm sorry I have to…" but she didn't bother finishing the sentence. She spun on her heel and fled right back out the door. _She's not here_, Kathryn kept thinking. _She's not here and David is missing…_what did that mean? Had they run off together? Were they shacked up somewhere and something happened? A dozen possibilities hurried through her head as she practically fled to her car. She was so panicked, so off-kilter that she didn't even hear the slapping of sneakers running up behind her.

"Scuse me, ma'am?" that same voice startled her again, just as she reached her car. She froze right as she grasped the handle. "Hey," he said, jogging up to her. For some reason she couldn't bring herself to turn. She couldn't look at him. Why couldn't she look at him? "Are you sure you're ok?" His hand touched her shoulder, but she flinched it away.

"P-please," she stuttered without turning around. "Please leave me alone."

"Can't do that, ma'am," Rick said with a thoughtful chuckle.

Kathryn remained stuck to the spot, wiping a tear from her cheek. "Oh yeah why is that?" she sniffled.

"I just…hate to see a pretty girl cry."

She gasped…and a chill scattered through her. _I hate to see a pretty girl cry_…the words were like lyrics to an old song she'd forgotten long ago. She gulped and scrunched up the material of her blouse at her stomach. Slowly, she turned around.

When she turned, Rick's mouth fell open. What was so _familiar _about this woman? Why had he felt compelled to follow a complete stranger to the parking lot? She wasn't looking at him; he couldn't see into her eyes, but everything else about her made him shiver with anticipation. She was lovely; even as distressed as she seemed, she was lovely. "Sorry you just…" he ran his hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head, "you seemed so shaken in there and I figured—"

"No…thank you, I…" she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, her eyes darting around in all directions but his. She couldn't look at him. Why couldn't she look at him?

Rick's pulse started racing, but he had no clue why. He bent his knees a bit, trying to level his gaze with hers, but for some reason, she would Not. Look. Up. Impulsively, he reached for her, his hand acting almost on its own accord as he slipped it underneath her palm, her fingertips smooth as silk on his wrist. He swallowed hard, knowing of course that he was _way _over-stepping here, but for some reason…he wanted her – _needed _her to Look. Up.

Finally, Kathryn lifted her gaze to his…and terror flooded her soul. Those eyes. Those hazel eyes boring into hers: tender…caring…not understanding but…wanting to. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't stand the ache, the pain sinking into her gut. _What _was _wrong _with her? Why did this stranger fill her with dread? With _guilt_ and yet…such… yearning? Becoming a person she wholly didn't know, she closed her fingers around his wrist and yanked him forward, catching him by the shoulder as he stumbled into her. And she kissed him.

Rick's eyes sprang open as they made contact. What in the _world?…_It was the single most bewildering moment of his life, her touch rendering him as still as a statue. The lost-little-lamb veneer she'd been projecting was in direct contrast to the sudden ferocity with which she attacked him. Logic screamed for him to shove her away. (I mean, come on…who in their right mind kisses a complete stranger?) But as her lips slid across his, feeling, tasting…claiming him…he found he didn't want her to stop. Soon, he slid his eyes shut, parting his lips and inviting her to go deeper as he skimmed his hand over her hip and around her back. He knew they were bound to spring apart, asking themselves what the _hell _they were doing…but as he fastened his mouth more securely over hers, claiming her as she did him, he suddenly wanted to delay that moment as long as possible.

Kathryn felt his fingers inching around to the small of her back, and she gasped as he firmed his grip and pulled her into him, his tongue slipping inside her mouth as her lips parted open. What the _hell _was she doing? What the hell was _he _doing? And _why _weren't they stopping? Two complete strangers kissing each other in an elementary school parking lot? It was a feature in Sidney's gossip column waiting to happen. And yet all she felt at this moment, wrapped in this strange but achingly familiar embrace, was that he still wasn't close enough. Breathless and desperate for more, she slid her hand from his shoulder around his neck and pulled him down, causing his arm to tighten around her waist as the two fell back against her car door. Their eyes fluttered open on impact and she caught his gaze…their eyes locked, and suddenly, the world flashed white and hot—

_"I wanted to get my hands on you before your father rips you to shreds."_

_"How did you know I was going—"_

_"Because I have ears in the king's court…I came here to help you escape."_

_"Why would you do anything to help me?"_

_"Because I don't want to marry you either"…_

"David!" she cried, pushing the man away, her breaths wet and ragged.

"Wh-what?" Rick panted, staggering backwards, "What the heck was—"

"I'm sorry," Kathryn muttered, holding her forehead in her hand. "I'm sorry, I don't what I was—" she looked up again at his face and the world flashed again—

_"I don't understand, what do you _mean _the wedding is off?"_

_"Please don't ask me to explain! I-I can't—I just know you'll be better off if—"_

_"If I bow out and you marry that prince after all? After everything we've been through?"_

_"The marriage w-will unite the k-kingdoms. I have t-to honor my duty to my father—"_

_"Your father _blessed_ this union, Abby. He promised me your hand the day he knighted me—"_

_"Things have changed since you've been cursed, Frederick. It's all just…please believe me…it's-it's safer this way"…_

"Hey!" Rick was shouting now, grasping her by the arm as she continued to stumble and writhe about, her hand clenched tightly across her forehead. "Hey, come on talk to me, what's going _on_?" he pleaded, crouching beside her as she sank down to the pavement. She was blocking him purposefully now, both hands in front of her face though he could still tell she was sobbing. And though his mind kept trying to convince him this woman was batshit-crazy, he somehow felt it was his job – his duty to help her. "Ma'am please," he begged her, his lips still swollen with the memory of her touch. He reached out and grasped her wrists, pulling her hands from her face.

Kathryn looked up—

"_Are you all right, your Highness?"_

"_Please…please leave me alone."_

"_Can't do that milady."_

"_Really, and why is that?"_

"_Because I can't stand to see a pretty girl cry"…_

Kathryn cried out and turned her head away. Why did she keep seeing these strange flashes? How could she make them _stop? _She couldn't look at him…she just…couldn't look at him. The pain – the _guilt_. Why when she looked into his eyes did she feel such _guilt? _Hastily, she pushed herself off the ground and turned into her car. "I'm sorry," she stammered into the window, knowing the apology wasn't _nearly _enough to cover or explain her behavior. "I'm sorry I just…I have to go."

With hands trembling, she tugged on the door handle, twisted herself inside, slammed the car into drive and sped out of the parking lot, leaving a poor and confused Rick Shields alone in the dust.

…

"This is never gonna work," Emma muttered as her hands toyed clumsily with the felt fabrics.

"_Yes _it will," replied Snow, "stop _saying _that."

"No, I mean—" she pointed with the scissors at the model she was attempting to copy— "I have no idea how to make a hat."

Snow looked to one of Jefferson's many attempts and snorted. "You're doing fine," she laid her hand on Emma's arm and smiled. "Just concentrate…and remember, if there's one thing that's true about _any _kind of magic – if you don't _believe _it'll work, it's not going to."

Emma nodded, glancing up at the two men positioned at the far ends of the room. Jefferson was pacing back and forth in front of the fire place, his palms pressed together as if engaged in some sort of prayer, while James had his arms crossed, leaning against the balustrade, watching the hatter sentinel-like from afar. Emma looked back at her work, unnerved by the many pairs of eyes that had been watching her for the past hour. She was actually amazed that what she'd constructed already in _any _way resembled a hat. The craftsmanship was certainly shoddy (the social workers of her past would never have described her as a girl who thrived in the creative arts) but it definitely looked like a hat. She had only the ribbon trim to finish…and she knew she had the woman beside her to thank for the strength to complete it.

"Snow?" she cleared her throat, glancing over peripherally.

Snow turned. "Hmm?"

Emma took a deep breath, finally summoning the courage to say what she'd wanted to say since the hatter had unlocked that door. "I'm…so sorry…" she rasped, "for all the things I said—"

"Don't," Snow squeezed her wrist, dismissing her at once.

"No, really. I should never've—"

"Emma," Snow leveled with her. "There's _nothing _you need to apologize for." She glanced up at James, whose attention had shifted toward their conversation. He nodded in agreement though he didn't interrupt. His wife had this one covered. "_So _much has been asked of you," she continued, fisting a few pieces of felt in front of them. "With all you've had to accept in the past 24 hours, I'm amazed there's enough of your brain left to process it," she chuckled.

Emma laughed a little too, grateful for her mother's generous reprieve. But even so, she couldn't shake the bitter aftertaste of the accusations she'd leveled so viciously. "Still…I shouldn't've said—"

"Emma please," Snow stopped her again and shook her head. "I mean it. The burden you've been asked to bear," she sucked in a breath, "it's…almost unfathomable. So much more so than your father or I could've ever—" she paused, her voice breaking a bit. James was shaking his head, willing her to stop punishing herself. She nodded, and looked back to Emma. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she finished softly, patting her daughter's hand.

Emma was not oblivious to her parents' wordless exchange. One glance at each of them confirmed they were as one on this issue. Pausing her work, she looked over to Snow. "Neither do you, you know," she said.

Snow started, "What?"

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed James unfolding his arms, straightening up as he listened. Emma glanced between the two, but kept her gaze focused mostly on her mother. "I…didn't have the best life, but at least I _had _one."

Snow's eyes started to burn, prickling with tears. Everything that was implied by the statement – the acknowledgment of their sacrifice, Emma's acceptance of her fate and identity, the recognition of her parents having indeed given her…her best chance – the effect was so overwhelming, she was almost glad that the hatter chose that particular moment to clear his throat obnoxiously loud.

"I don't mean to interrupt this tender family moment," he snarled, "but could you _please _finish my hat before you two start blubbering all over the place?"

"Shut up, Jefferson," James scowled. "She's almost done."

Emma looked up gratefully and then concluded her work, fastening a thick white ribbon around the base. She held it out in front of her, frowning at the rather sloppy seam work (she was fairly certain that true hatters would never have used so much glue), but it was done. And just as she was about to hand it over, Jefferson swooped down and snatched it out of her hands.

"Finally," he growled. The women stood and came around the table. James too moved more toward the center of the room as Jefferson held the hat carefully, almost reverently before him. He stretched it a full arm's length toward the carpet, glancing to either side to ensure he had enough space. With a deep breath, he crouched down, touched the crown of the hat just barely to the floor and gave it a spin.

The top hat wobbled a bit as it made six successive revolutions on the floor, then slowed and tipped over with an anticlimactic plop. To an outside observer, the scene might have appeared almost obscenely hilarious – four grown adults crowded around this sorry looking hat waiting for something amazing to happen. But to Jefferson, there was nothing funny about it. He shrieked in frustration, glared at Emma, then reached forward and tried again.

Still, nothing happened. And after he'd tried it a third time, Jefferson seized it by the brim and flung it across the room, "No good! Make another one."

Emma caught the hat clumsily in her hands and then glared back. "Are you _kidding_? I had a hard enough time making _this _one!"

"You weren't concentrating enough," Jefferson seethed, reaching for the gun still holstered at his back. "Make it again!"

"Gimme a _break!_" Emma snapped, adjusting her grip so she held the hat by the brim like a frisbee. _Lunatic, _she thought, _go back to Wonderland where you belong! _And in her anger, she tossed the hat aside, sending it spiraling away from her and landing about where Jefferson had placed it before. As soon as the crown touched the carpet, a thunderous boom shook the whole house, and what happened next shocked them all.

The hat was still spinning, and not only that, it was picking up speed. Faster and faster it turned, raising itself a few inches off the ground. "Snow?" Emma glanced over, but Snow's gaze was as transfixed as the rest of them. The air in the room turned cold, whipping around them at such speeds that flecks of dust and light scraps from the work table were lifted into the air and started dancing before them. In seconds, the whole parlor felt like the inside of a meat locker and soon…the hat started to descend. Like an oil drill sinking into bedrock, Emma watched in astonishment as it lowered itself far beneath the actual floor of the room. But instead of breaking through the basement ceiling, a large funnel opened up around it, widening the hole like a puddle spreading across the floor as thick brown streaks of wind and debris came and revolved around its center. Further and further the hat descended as if it were the eye of a tornado they were watching from above. And soon, peaking through from the very base of the abyss, a whole new world appeared beneath them.

"It worked," Emma whispered, though she was completely inaudible amidst the chaotic winds.

The mad hatter's voice, however, rang through sharply, as he wrenched his horrified gaze up from the funnel and shouted, "You _idiot_!"

Emma, James and Snow all whirled on him, eyes bugging out of their sockets. "What?" Emma cried. He _had _to be kidding. The goddamned thing actually _worked _and he was…angry about it?

"Idiot!" he cried again, yanking at the ends of his hair. "You were thinking about Wonderland weren't you? _Weren't _you?" He stalked over to her, careful not to let his shoe slip into the abyss that was still expanding from the center.

"What are you talking about?"

"Wonderland! You were thinking about Wonderland! You _fool_!"

"Hey!" James was suddenly beside her, holding out his hand and pushing him back. "She did exactly what you _asked _her to do!"

"I said I needed to go _home_. Home to the forest! To my cabin!" he pointed down, distressed and panicky as they beheld the vague image of a large maze of hedges, at the center of which stood an empty throne. "Does that _look_ like a cabin to you?" The image rippled before them, shifting as if someone had disturbed the surface of a pond and a new room came into view. A room filled…with thousands of hats. "Noooooo!" Jefferson cried, shrinking back from the place. "Make it stop, now! Make it go away!"

Emma looked worriedly between Snow and James, shaking her head, her mouth struggling to form words. "I-I can't!" she cried.

"You have to!" Jefferson gripped her arms and pulled her up to the edge. "You have to! Two go in, two come out – that's the _rule_!"

"What?" Snow cried, coming up behind her daughter.

"Two go in! _Two _must come out! If I go in _there_ by myself again I'll be right back where I started!"

"What is he talking about?" Emma shouted to James. But the prince was as much at a loss as the rest of them.

Meanwhile the portal kept growing, edging its way along the carpet, giving them all far fewer places to step. Jefferson clenched his fists, exasperated. "Wonderland has _rules_," he explained as if he were talking to a disobedient child. "I entered that world with Regina and she _left _me there for _eternity!_ If I go back now without someone to _leave_ with, I—" the hatter paused…and in his eyes, malevolence replaced his fear. Before Emma had time to react, the hatter tightened his grip on her jacket and yanked her to the very edge of the spiral. "Looks like I'll be taking you _with _me, your Highness!" he yelled, and without warning, jumped down into the funnel, knocking Emma off balance and sending her with him.

"No!" James cried, leaping forward as Emma fell beneath floor level. And just as she was about to sink out of reach, James clasped his hand around her arm and closed his fingers tightly around her elbow.

"James!" Emma cried, yelping at the pain as his grasp wrenched her arm back.

"I've got you! Gimme your other arm!"

Meanwhile, Jefferson – who saw the prince lunge for his daughter as he dragged her down – had clasped on to the ledge himself, knowing he'd have to fight to take Emma with him. Perhaps it was the fear of returning to Wonderland, perhaps it was just the breaking point of having waited for so many years only to be ripped out of one prison and cast into another one, but Jefferson had lost all objectivity. If he was going _in,_ he'd make _damn _sure he could get _out!_

His left hand gripped what was left of the floor – the portal had opened up all the way back to the white work table – and with his right arm he started pawing at Emma, trying to knock her out of her father's grip.

"Gerrrrrrrrroff!" Emma struggled, using her free arm to swat him away, trying to land one good punch. But with the way she was hanging, she couldn't get any force or power behind her fist, and with every attempt she felt herself slip further and further out of James's grip.

"Give it up, princess! You're comin' with me!"

"The _hell_ she is!" came Snow's voice, and to the hatter's utter surprise, Snow slid down to the funnel's edge and kicked him squarely in the face. Jefferson reeled back from the blow, spitting out blood as a few of his teeth joined in the debris spiraling downward. His grip on the floor remained though, and he swung back when Snow wound up for another kick. He was ready this time, caught her ankle in his hand and twisted – hard. Snow cried out, and Jefferson grinned as he heard the bone crack. In the end though, he'd sacrificed force for balance, and as he struggled to readjust his grasp, Snow's right hook delivered the final blow, and he flew off the edge into the abyss.

Emma watched in horror as the mad man got sucked down into the portal, and as soon as it consumed him, she saw the bill of the hat again, picking up speed and ascending up toward the floor. It was closing…the funnel was closing! "James!" she cried, suddenly aware of what little time she had to get out.

Her father, however was way ahead of her and, with one laborious tug, pulled her out of the abyss and up onto the carpet just as the portal sealed...the hat lay dormant in the middle of the floor.

The room was silent for several minutes, save for the panting of the three who remained. Snow was braced up against the table leg, hissing as she massaged her ankle, while James and Emma were tangled together in an exhausted heap next to the fireplace. The hatter…was gone.

"You…all right?" James asked between breaths, pushing himself up to a sitting position against the stone base of the fireplace, his other arm still wrapped vise-like around his daughter's.

Emma had crumpled face down to the carpet and groaned as she pushed herself up. She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and wiped away a bead of sweat trickling from her brow.

"Hey," James said quieter, tugging lightly on her arm. "You ok?"

Emma finally looked up, staring at their arms still clasped together. She looked at the hat, then back at her father…and then fell exhausted against his chest. James barely had time to shift as his daughter collapsed into the hug, but his arms came around her instantly, his hand reaching up to cradle the back of her head. "Thank you," she whispered, still catching her breath.

James didn't trust himself to speak. He merely held her…his beautiful girl – safe at last. Eventually, he worked up the courage to glance at Snow over Emma's shoulder, and smiled through bleary eyes as his wife beamed at them both.

…

Emma was amazed as they stepped across the front threshold of the mansion and into the cold, yet sunny afternoon air because everything… looked exactly the same. And though this was to be expected, so much had happened and had been revealed inside that she now felt like a completely different person. Surely there should be some cosmetic change in the world to match. Something betraying the queen's artful fabrication – some sign that the town was a deception, a mask covering her parents' true home. But the tree line, the landscaping along the driveway, Jefferson's car parked outside the garage – it was all just as they'd left it hours ago, and she couldn't help the sinking feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. Dread, she supposed, at having to return to town and pretend, at least publically, that none of it had happened. She glanced back at James who was carrying Snow behind her, the injury to her ankle too severe to walk on.

"We're gonna have to come up with some sort of cover for all this," she said as James and Snow joined her under the awning. "I'm sure the whole town is wondering where we all are right about now." James set his wife down on her one good leg, though still shouldering most of her weight as she kept the strained one elevated.

"We'll think of something," James said, looking around. "We've gotta get out of here first."

"Well how did you get here in the first place?" Snow asked.

James looked down and grinned, "Cain."

Her eyes widened. "_Cain_? He's alive?"

"Came as soon as I whistled."

"Well?" Emma said, tapping her foot, the top hat tucked securely underneath her arm. "What're you waiting for? Whistle again."

"I don't know that he can carry all three of us with Snow's ankle this way," he replied, darting his gaze around the premises, looking for other options. "I'd rather you had something a bit more stable," he added to Snow as she eased away from him to lean on one of the stone pillars holding up the awning. "Wait here," he said to both of them, and started over to the garage.

Snow nodded and watched him go while Emma stepped back toward her mother, taking the hat out from under her arm. "You think we'll…see him again?" she asked quietly, almost unaware that she'd wondered it aloud.

"When it's time," Snow replied, touching her daughter's shoulder. She turned to face her. "Don't blame yourself for this, Emma."

"He was just trying to get home—"

"There's no way you could've known what would happen."

"He has a daughter here. He was just trying—"

"And he'll see her again…we'll make sure of it," Snow assured her. "Look," she continued, "Jefferson was…impatient and impulsive…and who knows if we would've been able to get _you_ out of Wonderland?"

Emma flipped the hat over itself a few times, though _extremely _careful not to let it fall again. "I think I'm gonna have to read Henry's version of this story. Did you get what he was saying? 'Two go in – Two come out'?"

Snow shuddered, "The only thing I understood clearly was the part about _Regina_." She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "That woman leaves nothing but destruction and misery wherever she goes."

"Yeah well…we're gonna fix _that_," Emma said, suddenly very sure of herself. Of her new role. She had a lot to learn, it was true. But she'd just made a friggin' top hat open a portal to another dimension. If there was one thing she felt a bit better prepared for now…it was kicking Regina's ass.

"Don't suppose Jefferson thought to toss us his keys before he tried to drag you into hell?" said James, climbing back up the small hill from the garage. "I mean, his car's here, but we've got no way to start it."

Snow sighed while Emma shook her head. "Well, call for Cain," Snow told them, bending over to rub her ankle. She winced in pain as her fingers closed over swollen flesh. "Take Emma to town and then come back here for me."

"Are you kidding?" James and Emma shouted together. But neither had time to elaborate, for at that moment, a horse whinnied in the distance.

Snow gasped, looking up. "Is that him? Did you call him already?"

James shrugged. "No, but it sure sounds like him."

The three of them looked toward the horizon and heard it again – the loud, boisterous neighing of James's stallion…followed by a car motor. James and Emma glanced at each other, about to gear up for another conflict, when the faint outline of Cain crested over the hill…carrying Henry and Marco on his back. "Henry!" Emma cried, waving at her son. She couldn't believe how good it was to see him. But the surprises didn't end there, for bringing up the rear of this tiny rescue caravan…was Archie Hopper in his old jalopy.

"Emma!" Henry yelled back, breaking into a grin so wide his face hurt for hours afterward. For there they were: Emma, Snow and Pops. The icing on the cake to this already glorious adventure! (Who knew Geppetto could ride a horse so well?) They trotted up the drive, and Henry slid with Geppetto's help from Cain's saddle to the pavement. Emma ran up to him, crouching down to his level instantly and ruffling his hair.

"You got great timing, Kid," she beamed.

Henry winked back at his two companions as if to say _I told you so_ just as Archie – looking rather bewildered though no less glad to see them all – pulled his old clunker up beside Cain. "So," he said, crossing his arms and looking between Emma, Pops and Snow. "Who needs a ride?"

…

*****So! Many many thanks and welcome to Fruitality, WWMTGirl and 1MIKITAFANFORLIFE! Thanks for all the great feedback, and as usual, MANY thanks to my regulars, quoththeraven5, silvercharm, JuliaAurelia and many many more! **

**This chapter is lovingly dedicated, with my gratitude, to The Pris and HaleyRenee. The Pris has written in several reviews that "once this is all over, Emma is gonna need a drink." I so enjoyed that bit, I had to put it in the chapter! And after Haley suggested that I use Cain again to help Henry find his family, the image was too 'charming' (tee hee) to resist.**

**Plenty more in store – stay tuned!*****


	23. Into the Fold

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Into the Fold**

_The Daily Mirror_

December 5, 2011

Good Samaritans help new deputy save local teacher from bizarre kidnapping

By Sidney Glass

Deputy Sheriff Emma Swan is certainly starting her career off with a bang as she and local psychiatrist Archibald Hopper teamed up with recovering accident victim David Nolan yesterday in the dramatic rescue of Storybrooke Elementary teacher Mary Margaret Blanchard. Saved from a bizarre kidnapping attempt that might have ended up quite tragically if it wasn't for some rather extraordinary heroics of Storybrooke's finest, Blanchard was reportedly snatched by historic town recluse Jefferson Teague on her way home from work. He abducted her from a street corner near Mr. Gold's pawn shop on Sunday evening. "I have no idea," said Blanchard when asked why she'd been targeted. "I think he just snapped, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Deputy Swan had just pulled up to Collodi's Garage on Sunday evening to follow up on a lead in an unrelated case. "I don't usually open the shop on Sundays," said owner Marco Collodi, "but yesterday I made an exception." Collodi, Storybrooke's resident Mr. Fix-It, hired recently recovered coma-patient David Nolan to help him with a backorder of repairs commissioned for the town's annual tree-lighting. Collodi agreed to let Nolan work a few extra hours Sunday night to get the fix-it shop back on schedule. Swan had seen that the garage had been open earlier that day, but Nolan had already left for the evening and was headed to Mr. Gold's pawn shop to scout out some rare supplies. Finding Collodi's already closed, Swan took a quick walk around the square and came across Dr. Archibald Hopper whose kid-favorite dalmatian had run off without a leash. Swan agreed to help Hopper look for the dog, and the two of them drove all around the square when they heard shouts coming from the alleyway behind the pawn shop (Mr. Gold did not stay open late that night and was unavailable for comment). Speeding toward the scene in Hopper's beat up Volkswagon, the doctor and Swan arrived just in time to see Teague shoving a drugged Miss Blanchard in his car before speeding off for the woods. David Nolan (whose errand to Gold's shop just as the kidnapping took place constitutes timing almost not to be believed) attempted to prevent the abduction and landed a few punches before Teague allegedly pulled a gun and struck the back of Nolan's head. Swan and Hopper came upon the injured Samaritan and the three of them – in a move Mayor Regina Mills suggests was rash and irresponsible of the young deputy regardless of the results – chased the armed assailant all the way back to Teague's estate which lies hidden and secluded deep within Storybrooke's forest. With no one to radio for backup (as long-time sheriff Graham Humbert was not scheduled to return from Boston until early this morning), and zero cell phone reception, Swan, Hopper and Nolan approached the aggressor head-on, searching the extravagant mansion's many rooms and finding Blanchard, suffering only a broken ankle and bad headache, abandoned in the attic. Teague himself, outnumbered and unprepared, managed to slip away, but the immediate threat has been dealt with and Storybrooke's fifth graders will be thrilled to have their teacher back in the classroom soon.

Citizens of Storybrooke may not even remember Jefferson Teague's outrageous behavior some years back, when he arrived unannounced at a benefit given by Mr. Bridgeport at the Storybrooke Emporium. Having withdrawn from public life several years prior due to severe stress and an aggravated nerve condition diagnosed by our own Dr. Whale, Teague [_continued on page 4_]

….

Thomas didn't even bother turning to the 4th page of the _Mirror _and instead, set the paper down on the front counter. _A likely story, _he thought as he snorted into his coffee and rolled his eyes. By the time James, Snow and Emma had returned to town in Archie Hopper's car, Thomas had already started his afternoon shift at Garcon's, having to rely on second-hand information for news. He planned on giving James a mouthful later, but he was thoroughly relieved nonetheless to hear that all was well. He also felt (a little guiltily) 'off the hook' since he'd been beating himself up all morning for not having been able to do much about his friend's disappearance. Hell, he couldn't even share the extent of his worry with his own _wife_! And between consoling Belle, making his appointment with Ella at 1:00 and then getting to work in time, he'd barely had a chance to look into it before Ella called on her way home from the market.

"_Your friend David is ok!" _she'd reported happily, explaining as best she could the pandemonium that had erupted outside the sheriff's office upon their return. _"He and Dr. Hopper were helping Emma Swan prevent a kidnapping! And the victim was Mary Margaret Blanchard!"_ His wife's immense relief upon learning that her new friend 'Mary Margaret' was ok was of some comfort to Thomas, for it meant that his Ella was getting closer all the time to remembering how important she and Snow had _always _been to each other. But beyond his own relief, what Thomas felt most keenly at this point was curiosity. The story they'd spun was an elaborate concoction, he was sure of it. And though he couldn't possibly imagine the _real _story, he knew beyond a doubt that there was one yet to be told.

Consequently, he'd spent a large portion of the evening watching the Garcon's entrance, expecting to see his friend walk in with an explanation, but as the evening progressed, he realized that 'David Nolan' probably had quite a bit of explaining and damage control ahead of him. James wouldn't risk yet another nighttime trek to West End to talk to a bartender he wasn't _really_ supposed to know all that well. So by the time Thomas arrived at Collodi's the next morning, he was bursting with questions. What had _really _happened in the woods? Who was this Jefferson Teague fellow? How did Snow break her ankle? And…most importantly…what, if anything, had been revealed to Emma?

It was a little after 9:00 when the bell over the shop's entrance dinged and the door opened up. Thomas shot his head up from the paper and was gearing up to give James a rough time, but it wasn't James. It was Marco.

"Good morning Mr. Herman," came the old man's jovial voice.

Thomas tried to mask his disappointment. "Marco," he nodded, looking back at the paper. He was inspecting the large photograph of Snow being lifted into an ambulance, a concerned Deputy Swan watching from a distance. It was a good minute before he realized that Marco hadn't said another word, nor had he moved from his spot by the doorway. The silence suddenly grown eerie, Thomas looked up and started. Marco was staring at him, looking quite pensive…and yet oddly amused. "What?" he said pointedly.

Marco peered at him. He seemed to be…studying him. But he offered no immediate explanation and instead turned and gestured toward the door. "I have a rather large appliance in the back of my truck. I wonder if you might help me bring it in?"

Thomas narrowed his gaze. "Umm…sure," he said. _Why didn't you just say so? _ The young prince threw on his jacket, but continued to glare at the old man. Why was he…_looking _at him so strangely? He met Marco at the door and paused before pushing it open. "Marco?"

"Hmm?"

"Y'all right?"

Marco grinned and shook his head, clapping Thomas on the shoulder. "I'm fine, my friend. Shall we?"

Thomas wasn't at all convinced. _Something _was going on. But he couldn't quite get his finger on the pulse of it. "Whatcha got out here?" he asked as they approached the truck bed.

"A kiln," he replied.

Thomas whirled around. "A what?"

Marco was still grinning. "I took your advice, Sean. I saw Mr. Gold yesterday evening. Seems he's quite the collector of old appliances. Gave me a great bargain."

The word 'bargain' gave Thomas a shiver, but he refrained from asking. It wasn't any business of a part time mechanic's to know all the details of his boss's transactions. "So," he said as he helped Marco pull down the tailgate and shift the large contraption off the bed. "Is this for…what I _think _it's for?" he asked with a small smile.

Marco winked with a little of that old blue fairy twinkle in his eye. "I had a bit of…inspiration yesterday," he replied as they maneuvered the large oven into the shop. Once inside, Thomas retrieved a small dolly on casters and they wheeled it into the garage. Then they headed back to the front.

"Inspiration, huh?" Thomas wiped the sweat from his brow when they were done. He shoved a hand in his pocket, trying to appear nonchalant, but there was definitely something peculiar…something cryptic about these responses. His eyes fell on the article and he remembered something. "Have anything to do with you being quoted in the paper this morning?"

At this, the old man seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh so they _did _quote me, eh?" He moved past Sean to the counter and glanced down at the photo. "Yes, yes. Quite a bit of excitement that was."

"Did J-" Thomas choked and caught himself. "That is, uh," he cleared his throat, "did David tell you what happened exactly?" Perhaps the old man knew more than he might realize.

"Oh he didn't have to," Marco glanced up from the paper, that same glint in his eye. "I was there."

Thomas blinked, not understanding at first. "You were…you were _there?_" he lowered his voice in a hiss, though there was no one around to eavesdrop. _The Mirror _said nothing about Marco Collodi actually being there.

Marco pulled back and crossed his arms proudly. "Who do you think got little Henry back to school before the mayor missed him?" he paused and added quietly, "or I should say…before the _queen _missed him."

Thomas staggered forward, slamming his hand down on the counter for support (these jaw-dropping moments were getting to be a bit much for his blood pressure). "You…you _know_?"

Marco gave a slow nod.

"How—but—w-well when did you wake up? How'd you remember? Did you—" he gasped— "did you _find _Pinocchio?" Thomas asked in rapid succession, almost as if his mouth were working a tad faster than his brain.

At the mention of Pinocchio however, Marco's expression became a bit more pensive…and a little sad. He held his hands up, a tacit request that Thomas slow down. "Well now, hold on a minute…I know about the curse, Sean. I didn't say I remember."

He narrowed his gaze. "You…_don't _remember," he said quizzically.

Marco shook his head, but allowed the younger man to work things out.

Thomas cocked his head to one side, still puzzled. "But you…_believe?_"

At this, the old man smiled again. "Whole-heartedly."

Thomas stepped back and couldn't help asking, "Why?" then holding his hands up, "I mean, not that I'm complaining."

"Well for one thing," Marco chuckled, "there _has _to be more to life than Storybrooke, Maine."

Thomas snorted and took a seat on the stool behind the desk. The man had a point.

"And I'm far too old to worry or care much about people thinking I'm crazy."

The prince smiled. Another good point. He may not remember yet that he was Geppetto but he'd lost none of the craftsman's wisdom. "So who told you?"

"Henry," he smiled.

Henry Mills, Thomas thought. James's grandson. "I really gotta meet that kid," he chuckled.

"Indeed…a remarkable child. One whose ideas until recently have been too much ignored."

"Still, that's a lot to swallow on faith alone," Thomas said, impressed.

"Perhaps," Marco conceded. The whole idea _did _still seem a _bit_ fantastic. "But I have long believed the world would be a much better place…if every now and then, we stopped and _listened_ to our children."

Thomas swallowed hard, unexpectedly moved by his words. He thought of Alexandra, of the instant he woke from the curse with his baby girl in his arms. _Since when are our children _not _our future? _he'd asked James that night. "Couldn't agree more."

Marco smiled. "Besides…as Henry so astutely pointed out, I am unable to remember _anything _about my life here beyond the day-to-day routine of running _this _place. I can't remember moving here, starting this shop, meeting my friends—"

Thomas laughed. "I take it he was pretty convincing?"

"More so with me than with Archie I'm afraid," Marco chuckled, remembering Archie's utter look of shock as he'd asked Henry to tell him more about the curse. "I daresay he thought _I _would need therapy at some point."

"But, Archie—" Thomas glanced back at the article, checking his facts, "he was _with _James and Emma in the forest, right? He must have believed at least _some _of it."

"Oh by _that_ point, of course," the craftsman clarified, rising to pour himself a cup of coffee from the small cart they put out in the lobby for customers. "I mean, when a boy leads you to the middle of the forest and you find yourself following a flock of bluebirds he _insists_ will point the way, and then a fully saddled _horse_ appears out of nowhere to take you there…there's little room for doubt." He paused and took a sip, amused by his young employee's staggering expression. He went on to point out other parts of the story they'd fed the press that were lies – that Archie never really lost his dog and that Emma and James were long gone by the time Henry even arrived at Archie's, asking for help. Thomas was also surprised, though no less pleased, to learn that Archie Hopper was actually, in fact, Geppetto's friend and counsel, Jiminy Cricket. (Of course, immediately following the revelation, Thomas wondered why it should surprise him in the least. Doc Hopper lunched with Marco almost every day. They were best friends).

"How is he taking it?"

"The way you would expect of a trained psychologist," Marco replied, taking another sip. "Very…slowly."

Thomas straightened up, finding Marco's answer a bit concerning. "But he _does _believe?…I mean he won't—"

"Archie would never betray the trust of his friends, Sean," the old man said with unshakable certainty. "Or the confidence of his patients. Henry taught him _that _lesson weeks ago, and I assure you…he's quite humbled by the boy. You have nothing to worry about."

Thomas blew out a sigh and sank back to the stool. They were silent for a few moments, Marco continuing to nurse his morning coffee while curiosity got the better of his young friend. "Soooo," he started slowly, taking a cup of coffee for himself. "Is it…weird for you? Knowing but…well, you know…_not _knowing?"

Marco shrugged, "Oddly not as strange as you might think. Though the _names_ will definitely take some getting used to – I've known Mary Margaret for so long I feel quite like an old uncle. But '_Snow_?' Until now, that's just been something we shovel."

The joke so caught Thomas off guard he snorted coffee through his nose. Snow White had been called many things, but never _that_. It was nice to see Geppetto's wry wit resurfacing.

"But no," he continued. "Not so strange. I don't…" he trailed off, his tone suddenly mournful. "I don't remember my life … _as_ Geppetto. I don't remember…having a child. But," he sighed, "I feel keenly the emptiness of _not _having one."

Thomas gulped, knowing the hardship the old man had already endured to secure Pinocchio's safety and future. He wondered what was worse – having memories of his old life and suffering the pain of having them ripped away…or _knowing _he once _was _happy and being unable to remember it. It reminded Thomas of Belle – the suffering and distress she was currently enduring, mostly because she didn't _understand _the memories that haunted her.

"By the way," Marco said, sensing his friend's discomfort (and ironically more at peace with his own state of mind than his employee seemed to be on his behalf). He set his cup down on the counter and reached into his back pocket. "Am I right in assuming, based on this rather remarkable sketch," he retrieved the folded charcoal drawing and smoothed it out in front of them, "that your lovely bride to be is actually…Cinderella?"

Thomas stared at the artwork. "Ella," he amended softly.

"Ella," Marco nodded. "And…what about you?"

Thomas glanced up. "Me?"

The old man grinned, "Will it be… _Your Highness _or—"

"Oh _God _no—" he slapped himself in the forehead and laughed. "No it's Thomas. Just Thomas."

"Thomas," he nodded again and looked back to the sketch. "I wonder why they never mention _your _name in all the tales."

The prince shrugged, having not much thought about it until now. As 'Sean' he supposed he'd been aware of the many versions of "Cinderella" that papered the children's section of the public library. He straightened up again on his stool and pondered it further: how strange it really _was_ for their lives, their personal histories, to be so widely known in this dimension – that the struggles his Ella had faced, the obstacles they'd overcome and their journey toward happiness had been told, re-told, re-imagined, anthologized, adapted, filmed and sold to children the world over. The details of their story were not only known…they were iconic. After all, how _else _had Marco discerned that Ashley was "Cinderella" from a charcoal drawing?

"The same is true for James, now that I think of it," Marco added, chuckling. "To my knowledge, he's only ever been referred to as 'Prince Charming' in the classic retellings."

Thomas snorted again. If he only knew. "Where _is _James?" he wondered suddenly, glancing at the clock. It was almost 9:30 and there was still no sign.

Marco became thoughtful once more. "I don't believe we'll see him very early today," he said with a frown. "Judging from the way his…well, judging from the look on _Mrs_. 'Nolan's' face at the station house…I don't think he's quite…out of the woods yet."

…

As James moved about the kitchen, pouring coffee, toasting breakfast, gathering his few possessions together before he went to work, he wasn't entirely sure if he'd gotten off very very lucky…or if things had just gotten a lot worse. Their return to town yesterday was heralded as the pinnacle of heroism. Poor Jiminy, of course, had been rather distressed to be included in the praise for the rescue, but he'd played along, agreeing that the cover story they'd contrived on the way back had the best chance of being believed. It accounted for _most_ of trail of clues they'd left behind: why the cars were parked at Gold's and Collodi's all night; why James had a bruise on his neck the size of a softball; why no one could get in touch by cell phone. In fact, the only real gamble they'd taken in concocting the alibis was the risk that someone had _seen_ Jiminy leaving his offices with Geppetto and Henry. Henry _had_ insisted on leaving the back way and as covertly as possible (And Jiminy had actually spent the night conked out on his therapy bed, so no one had seen him in town that morning). But there was still that minute possibility that a passerby might have seen the jalopy leaving from the back alley and heading for the woods around 2pm in the afternoon. So far though, no one had come forward to contest it, and everyone in town seemed to be quite proud of such an exciting report of heroics in their own hometown.

What the story had provided most of all however (at least in James's view), was a legitimate reason for 'David Nolan' to have gone practically a whole day without letting his 'wife' know he was all right. He knew he was in for a ton of explaining, and though he wouldn't dream of taking back one second he'd gotten to spend with his true wife, he worried about his ability to maintain appearances that the Nolans' relationship was stable. So as soon as they'd returned to town, James had gone straight over to Kathryn, prepared to account for his whereabouts. Kathryn, he suspected, had been growing suspicious of late, and he certainly didn't want to give her any reasons to complain to her good 'pal' Regina. As much as it pained him (even more so after meeting up with Snow at the cottage) he knew he must keep up the illusion of the marriage.

So upon their return, he'd wasted no time in seeking her out, playing the role of the dutiful husband, feigning relief that he'd made it through the ordeal so he could see her again. He was actually quite pleased with his performance and thought he'd been sufficiently convincing. Oddly enough, Kathryn had not reacted in the slightest. She claimed to be quite glad to see him, but the look on her face was completely glazed over, almost vacant. To own the truth, her expression was unnerving. He'd foreseen two scenarios: Kathryn would either be gushing and weeping tears of relief and joy at having him back safe and sound, or she would angrily demand an explanation for why he'd been out all night, didn't call, and hanging out with Mary Margaret Blanchard. For each possibility, he'd been quite prepared with his alibi. But the last thing he'd expected was this disturbing stoicism. It was as if she'd been permanently stuck in the 'Storybrooke haze' with no sign of recovery or escape. They'd barely spoken that evening as they prepared dinner, ate and watched TV. Their conversation was inane. Her voice – monotone. So as he went through his morning routine now, periodically peering around the archway into the living room to find her _still _sitting like a statue on the couch, it wasn't with a lot of confidence that he prepared to leave.

Shrugging his coat on, he stepped into the room. "Are you um…working today?" he asked.

Kathryn shook her head, not looking up from the magazine she was staring at (and James was fairly sure she'd been on the same page for the last hour).

He frowned. "Got anything…fun planned?"

Again she shook her head, and again her gaze remained fixed.

He should leave, he thought. What was he worried about? She wasn't drilling him for explanations. She wasn't demanding a declaration of love and affection, or showing him more blasted pictures. He should take advantage of this. They'd caught a real break here.

But as he continued to stare at her, her eyes almost black and beady like she was caught in some trance, he couldn't help but feel a genuine concern. _Something _had happened. Something…crucial. And suddenly he felt that he'd deeply regret it someday if he allowed himself to ignore it. "Kathryn," he said pointedly, settling down on the coffee table in front of her.

_Still _she wouldn't look up…but as he got closer, he realized…she was shivering.

"Kathryn!" he grasped her wrist, giving it a shake.

Finally she startled awake and looked at him, her expression just as spacy and frightening as it had been all morning. "What?" she asked quietly.

"Whadyou mean 'what'?" he squeezed, trying to maintain her gaze. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," she said robotically, as if it were a programmed response.

But James shook her up, grasping both arms a little more firmly. "I don't believe you. You've been acting strangely ever since we got back from the station. Now what is it?"

Forced to confront him head on, her lip started trembling and gradually the vacancy of her expression gave way to pain. Sadness. Fear. "I…" she mumbled, "I…I can't explain it…I—" she started fidgeting with the lace trimming of her sleeves. She dropped her gaze again, staring at her lap.

"Hey," James tried, a little gentler.

It was beginning to look like she'd stay that way, and James was about to give up. Then suddenly, she snapped her head up, her eyes fierce. "Kiss me."

James reeled back. "What?"

She reached forward and locked her arms around his neck. "I'm your _wife_, right? It's not an _unreasonable_ request," she spat. And before James could stop her, she darted in. His eyes flew open, her lips wet and sloppy and awkwardly sliding against his. By the time he'd gotten over his shock, she'd already pulled back, staring at him with a mixture of frustration, hurt and confusion.

"Nothing," she mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing!" She sprung up from the couch and started pacing in front of the fireplace. "I feel _nothing _David."

James turned, his heart pounding hard. "What…do you mean?" he said cautiously, spinning around on the coffee table to face her.

Abruptly, she turned to him, "Are you having an affair?"

"What?"

"Are you?" she prodded, flailing her arms wildly in front of him.

"What gave you that—"

"Because if you are, _that_ would explain it," she resumed her pacing, and finally James stood.

"Explain _what_?"

"Why I feel _nothing_!" she cried, stopping again before him. "Otherwise it's not normal is it? It's not normal for a woman to kiss her husband and feel…" she looked down, "empty."

The anguish in her voice was unmistakable, and he found himself actually _wanting _to reach out, to take her hand in his. But he hesitated. He'd been fooled once before by Abigail's charades. Just weeks after he'd helped reunite her with her true love, she'd turned on him, insisting that she preferred going through with the merger of their kingdoms. Midas had been prepared to call the whole thing off for the sake of his daughter's happiness, believing her to be truly in love with the revived Sir Frederick. James would have been free and clear, with nothing for King George to hold over him, and no reason that he and Snow couldn't come out of hiding. But when Abigail staunchly declared that she meant to marry James after all, that she much preferred inheriting the wealth and power of two kingdoms to marrying a lowly knight in her father's court, she not only prolonged King George's relentless hunt, but actually gave up his location to George which had led to James's capture. Ultimately, the ordeal didn't stop him from marrying Snow, but Princess Abigail hadn't exactly made things easier. She had proven herself to be as selfish and greedy a royal as they come, so he couldn't help but doubt her sincerity here.

But even so, as he'd been observing since the beginning, the curse actually seemed to have improved her character in Storybrooke. Kathryn reminded him more and more of the Abigail he _thought _he'd been helping when he agreed to face the water demon to save Frederick in the first place. And perhaps it was with the vain hope that there was still a bit of her left inside that he finally tipped her chin up to look at him. "No…" he whispered. "No it's not normal."

A single tear fell down her cheek as she met his gaze head-on. "What's happening to me?" she pleaded.

He shook his head. "What do you _mean?_"

"I'm…" she tried to look away but James wouldn't let her. "I've been..." she tried again but then seemed to give up. "Nevermind, I'm sorry," she shrunk away, retrieving her magazine. "With all you just went through it's—"

"Kathryn," James caught her hand, and turned her back around. "You've been what?"

She looked down at their clasped hands and sighed. "I've been…seeing things," she said barely above a whisper.

James started. "Seeing…what things?"

"Flashes," she replied hoarsely, unable to look up for she knew how crazy it sounded. "Like…dreams but…I'm not asleep."

James tightened his grip, and she met his gaze once more. "Flashes…like…visions?" Slowly, she nodded. "Of what?"

"You," she said, then thought a moment. "But…but _not _you. And people…people I've never met before but…but I feel like I—" she stopped herself. "Forget it, this is stupid."

Once again she retreated and James let her hand slip from his grasp. His first instinct was to keep going. Flashes. Visions. Dreams of people she knew but…didn't. It certainly _seemed _as if Abigail was resurfacing. And why not? That was the goal right? Restore enough happy endings and weaken the curse in order to wake more people. Except what would come of waking Abigail? Would she revert to her old ways? Would she make life difficult for him and Snow? Or worse: would she resist revelation and run straight to Regina, telling her all about her crazy husband who talked of curses and witches and knights and enchantments?

She was halfway up the stairs before James got hold of himself enough to follow her. No, he thought. The risks were too great to just come out and _tell _her the truth about herself. He had to handle this the way a man in _this _world might…and the thought gave him an idea. New plan in mind, he sprang up the steps and joined her in the main bedroom. "Grab your coat," he said sharply.

She turned and stared at him. "What?"  
>"We're gonna figure this thing out, Kathy," he coaxed, taking both hands in his and pulling her off the bed. "Grab your coat, come on."<p>

She stood up clumsily, her gaze narrowed. "W-where are we going?"

James gave her arms a reassuring squeeze. "To talk to a friend."

…

Rose set down the paper, still staring in disbelief at the photo of Mary Margaret being loaded in the back of an ambulance. A kidnapping in Storybrooke – of Mary Margaret Blanchard! She still couldn't believe it. Who could ever think of hurting such a sweet lady?

Rose, like many in Storybrooke, usually found the paper quite dull. Very rarely did anything of any _real _consequence occur in this town, so the _Mirror _was typically chock-full of gossip and rumors spread mostly by Marguerite Tremaine and her gaggle of high-society debutants. Rarely did a story of actual substance find its way to the front page, so when it did, _everyone _in town knew about it. Storybrooke's last big headline was all about David Nolan awaking from his coma. How strange that he was involved in _this _story too. _And_, she further recalled, hadn't it been Mary Margaret Blanchard assisting the sheriff in _that _case? Rose doubted very much that many people had made the connection. Sidney Glass certainly hadn't. But it was second nature for this bookworm to start formulating theories. Besides…it helped take her mind off of…other things.

Her talk with Sean yesterday hadn't gone the way she'd expected. In fact, she hadn't _expected _to tell anyone _at all _about what she'd been dreaming, the visions she'd been having. But he was nothing but supportive. Against all manner of reason, he actually _believed _her. And for a split second, she considered driving up to the hospital then and there and confronting her fears. She would _find _that man in the psych ward. She would somehow figure a way inside. She would find out—

But before she'd even buttoned her coat after clocking out from her shift, she changed her mind. No matter how much she wanted to believe there was some magic solution waiting for her at that hospital, no matter how much Sean insisted someone was 'trying to tell her something', guilt and grief overwhelmed her, and she simply went home. What a coward she was: using a few strange dreams as some excuse for not facing her problems head on, for not owning up to her mistakes and dealing with the consequences…for not telling Jack about the baby.

With a heavy sigh, she slid the paper to the end of the counter and turned on the kitchen faucet. Water diluted the little bit of milk left in her dad's breakfast bowl as she retrieved the sponge from the back windowsill and started scrubbing. _I have to tell him today, _she thought, though it filled her insides with butterflies at the thought of it. Jack wasn't exactly…the father type. As she'd shamefully admitted to Sean yesterday, she _didn't _love him, and the idea of having his baby seemed so…so _wrong!_ She shook her head, _stop it! _She chided herself. What's done is done. She would tell him tonight. Tonight after they closed. He always came in on Tuesday to do the books and Sean's shift would be over early. It would give her all day to prepare what she was going to say, how she would phrase it, how—

"Rose?" she heard a muffled shout followed by a light rapping on the back door. Rose yelped as the cereal bowl slipped out of her grasp and clattered to the sink. She switched off the faucet and gulped. The pounding started again. "Rose!" he yelled.

It was Jack. What the hell was she doing at her _house_? Peering down the hallway, listening for signs that her father had stirred, she went to the back door and slipped her finger in the crack between the curtain fastened over the small window. Yep…sure enough. Jack Hunter: The father (she shuddered) of her baby. Drawing a deep breath, she unlatched the lock and opened the door. "Jack," she said quietly, putting a finger to her lips and nodding down toward the hallway. "What are you doing here?"

Jack stepped up into the kitchen, towering over her, and followed her gaze down the hall. Seeming not to care that her father might be sleeping, he said loudly, "What do you _mean _what am I doing here? You won't return my calls, you haven't been by in _days_—"

"Shh!" she snapped and ushered them both into the small living room at the other end of the little ranch. "For God's sake, keep your voice down. He's resting."

Jack rolled his eyes as she dragged him but obeyed, and when he spoke again he was a tad quieter. "Why are you ignoring me?"

"I'm not ignoring—"

"The hell you aren't—"

"I've been a little _busy _Jack!" she snapped, suddenly angry. "You know, my _father _in the hospital and all?"

Jack sucked in a breath, and she could tell from the look in his eyes that his patience was waning. "I know that I just…" he ran his hand through his jet black hair and shook his head. She stepped back a little. Even from across the room, she could see his biceps flexing beneath his maroon tee-shirt. "Look, _you _are the one who wanted to keep this thing with us quiet. And I've respected that—" he paused and glanced up at the ceiling— "I mean as long as your little schoolteacher friend and Doctor 'Glasses-man' don't say anything of course," he chuckled as if he'd just _invented _the concept of comedy. Rose pressed her lips together but didn't respond. He looked back down, once again serious. "So I've kept my distance. I can't comfort you in public. You won't let me run errands for you. You won't let me _do _any of the things a _normal _boyfriend would do and that's fine—"

"Boyfriend?" Rose choked, her eyes wide as saucers.

His hands came to his hips and he stared her down incredulously. "Well _yeah,_" he scoffed, tensing his muscles again. "We're not exactly gettin' together to play Parcheesi!"

Rose felt her stomach start to ache and she turned away from him. _Not the time_, she thought. _Not ready_, she begged. _Not here_. Jack had objected to this kind of thing before of course. She knew it bugged him that she wouldn't let their…arrangement be more than it already was. But in a way, she'd always suspected that he was secretly quite _happy _not doing all the other 'things boyfriends would do.' She went to his place. They had sex. She came home. And the fantasies she'd allowed him to indulge in _there _placated any macho resentment he had at being denied bragging rights in public. No, she thought. She wasn't fooled. He was here now because…she'd stopped coming over.

"Hey," he soothed, jolting her from her thoughts. He was suddenly right behind her, his mouth mere inches from her ear. "Come on, baby," he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek, "Don't shut me out." Rose stiffened as his hands settled around her waist.

"Stop it," she squeaked, but she seemed to have lost her voice.

"Stop what?" he growled against her throat and then laved wet, sucking kisses along her neck.

"My _father _is in the—ah!" she yelped as his hands started to roam, "in the other room!" she gasped.

"He's sleeping, babe," he said, devouring her sensitive skin as he stroked his right hand down her hip and then back up her buttock. "He'll never know." She opened her mouth to object again, but his other hand flew to her nape, and yanked her face up to his, capturing her lips with possessive force as he continued to grope her. His tongue darted down her throat and she nearly choked while he slid his right palm down the front of her waist, inching toward the juncture between her thighs. _No_, she thought, her stomach starting to churn. His left hand trailed back down her neck and under her arm, then dipped underneath her shirt. _No this…doesn't feel right…_she thought, twisting in agony. Wrong…why did it feel so wrong? She'd allowed him to touch her this way a dozen times, and though they were hardly a pair that whispered sweet nothings to each other, the physical release he offered had always seemed worth how much she hated herself later. But today there was no pleasure…only pain. And the closer he got to her most intimate, private places, the worse she felt – like she was…betraying someone.

His fingertips were digging up under the guide wire of her bra and the ache in her gut doubled. "Mmmlll-no," she managed in the tiny bit of breath she gulped as he continued to assault her with his tongue. "Pllz sstp," she muttered into his mouth, straining for air, but he wasn't listening. She twisted and writhed in protest, trying to wriggle away as he pushed the bra aside and cupped her swollen breast in his palm. He squeezed her – hard, and she cried out as he groped and palmed like he was sizing up fruit for the picking. Rose slammed her eyes shut as the pain in her stomach continued to build. _Stop this…have to stop this_, she screamed aloud in her head. His right hand skimmed over the waistline of her jeans, and when his fingers grazed the bare skin over her womb, she convulsed in total agony and a vision flashed before her eyes—

"_He's sleeping Belle…he'll never know," the fool drawled as he pinned her to the bed, his hands tightening around her wrists. "Don't worry, princess. I'll be sure to leave his royal majesty the leftovers"—_

"NO!" she bellowed and finally wormed out of his grasp. She jabbed her elbow against his rib cage while bending her knee and snapping her foot back, kicking him squarely in the crotch. Cursing and yelping from the pain, Jack flew backward and his calves collided with the couch.

"What the _hell_ Rose?" he barked, keeled over and panting.

"I said…_stop_," she said, and this time her voice was clear as a bell.

"Huh," grunted. "Too good for me now, are ya Princess?" he spat and tried to straighten up, still holding on to his groin.

Rose stood her ground without regret, and the pain in her belly ebbed away the longer they stood apart. Voices started filling her head…but they weren't from her dreams…

"_You_…_are one of the smartest and __bravest __women I've ever met"…_

"_I think someone's trying to tell you something…and I think you need to listen"…_

"I said _no _and I mean it, Jack," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Not _here_…and not…not again."

The statement shocked them both. After all, Rose had been planning to tell him about the _baby_ today. When exactly had she made the decision to end things? But as she stared into his rage-filled eyes, she knew it was the right choice. This man was no father. And besides…the nausea, the aches and pains that swelled in her belly as he'd touched her – they were gone now.

"Is that a fact?" he snarled, finally standing up (though still wincing) and stalking over. "We both know you don't really mean that." He came to stand right in front of her, and she didn't flinch as he drew the tip of his finger from her temple down her cheek. "Face it baby…you can't get _enough _of me."

But Rose didn't budge. Her arms were still crossed, her jaw firmly set, and her head…_"If there's anyone strong enough to end this, Rose…it's you"…_ for the first time in days, her head was clear. "Get out Jack. And don't ever come back here again."

Despite appearances, Jack was totally flummoxed. For as long as…well, for as far back as he could remember, Rose French had never given him the impression that she had any kind of a backbone. Sure she'd resisted him for a long time, but all it took was a trip to an all-night Chinese place and her father's fortunately timed heart attack to give him an in. A fragile woman, an empty house, a certain finesse and she'd been putty in his hands. He could still remember the feel of that first time – the conquest, the victory of having finally plunged inside of her, how it felt to toy with her, to have her shrieking with pleasure. He always knew she wanted him, and keeping quiet about it was a small price to pay to have her coming back for more. Since then his passion for her had only grown. She was the only one he wanted to be with. The only woman he thought about. Eventually (to the chagrin of Marguerite Tremaine), he'd ended all his other liaisons. He'd _even_ gone as far as fixing her car one night – he'd actually strained a few muscles pushing her beat-up Chevy out of a snow bank that had accumulated in his driveway– he'd done something for her that was totally selfless. _And _he'd gone to that damn hospital and tried to _comfort _her while they waited yet again for news about old Mo, all the while keeping her damned secret…and _this _was how she repaid him? "It's not that easy to get rid of me Rose," he warned her, "you'll see."

"Get out," she said again, un-phased. And, with a few more grunts, Jack tugged down a bit on his tee-shirt, pulled on his coat and walked out the door.

As soon as it slammed shut, Rose stalked over to the dining room and grabbed her purse hanging off the back of her chair. She headed down the hall to one of the closets, pausing to check first on her father – who as usual, slept through everything – and then grabbed her keys. If she really stopped to think about it, she might be quite shocked at the certainty and determination with which she moved. Where…had _any _of that…_come _from? she might wonder…except she knew the answer. And she _didn't _stop to think about it. She _knew_ where she had to be and so moved swiftly, for she felt suddenly…that she was running out of time.

…

Shrouded behind hedges that lined the drug store's side street driveway, Jafar looked on as the bartending brute slammed shut the door of the beauty and stalked off down the street. He must have parked a few doors down for he was receding further down the road, and as he faded into the distance, the old vizier scowled down at the woman beside him, finding it easier and easier in his rising fury to resist her legendary charms. "It appears that didn't go very well."

"As I suspected," came Circe's sweet voice, the serenity of her countenance striking Jafar as completely inappropriate considering the current state of affairs at Storybrooke General. Circe herself of course, did not seem in the slightest bit worried. "She will have been haunted by him for days now. All it takes is one look."

Jafar scoffed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his long black leather duster. "One look at a _mental _patient, Circe. One might think _that _in itself would be enough of a deterrent. Isn't _she _supposed to be the sensible one of all these…_women_!"

"As I have tried once before to counsel the queen, there is nothing sensible about love," Circe tightened up the collar of her red coat and gave her black scarf a firm tug. "She would have done well to try to _understand _love before enacting a curse so dependent on its properties."

Her companion sighed as the two started toward his car – arguably one of Jafar's principle reasons for trying to maintain the status quo. The queen had certainly made good on her promise of wealth and power – he commanded the psychiatric wing at Storybrooke General, held the fate of countless souls in his hands (and as head of Psychiatry had the legal right to do so) and he slept like a baby at night knowing that one of those patients was the very Sultan to whom he'd been forced to cower for an eternity. But not even the queen could have anticipated how much the Arabian villain would come to love his car. Jafar would fight to the death to prevent from having to return to a world in which _didn't _exist his 1968 black Oldsmobile Cutless Supreme.

He opened the passenger door and gestured for Circe to climb inside, careful to avoid watching too closely as she gracefully eased herself down to the leather interior and pulled her slender legs inside. He was about to ask what exactly she meant by 'understanding love' when movement caught his eye and he glanced back toward Belle's house. He ducked down behind the open car door and the two watched as the beauty also stalked down the driveway and got into her car. The woman moved with purpose, and in seconds, she'd sped out of the driveway and right past the hedge. Jafar stood once more as Belle's car turned onto the main road and disappeared.

"Should we follow her?" Jafar asked, worried about the intense determination evident even from this great a distance in the beauty's face.

"No," replied Circe, just as calm and serene as before.

"If I didn't know better, I would say you're not as…_committed _to this mission as you should be, witch," he spat, hoping for _some _sort of reaction so he wouldn't have to hear her sweet siren voice again.

But still, she remained content. "Follow the brute, not the beauty," she commanded, placing her purse quite properly on her lap.

Jafar circled around the car and slumped into the driver's seat. "Why? She turned him away."

Circe peered at him from beneath her furry hood. "As I said, Jafar. There is nothing _sensible _about love. I believe the bartender may yet take care of our problems for us. Follow…the brute."

…

Archie _knew _he should have canceled his office hours today. It would have been the responsible thing for the town psychologist to do. How in the world could be expected to keep his appointments and council his patients to cope with a world he wasn't sure was real anymore? And with half of the town congratulating him for his phony heroics, he'd had just about all he could take already and it was only 10:00!

So it was with more than a little degree of agitation that he greeted David – or James – or _whoever _at his door this morning and with even _less _patience that he listened to what the princely fellow wanted him to do.

"I don't trust her, Arch. She's not someone who, if she wakes up, is necessarily going to be an asset to us."

"Then why do you want me to help her remember at _all_?" Archie asked, glancing back at the miserable wreck of a woman sitting inside his office on the therapy couch. He and David were outside in the hallway, talking in whispers. "And besides, I'm not even sure I _can _help her remember."

James took a deep breath and leveled with his old friend. "I want you to help her because I think there's more going on with her than any of us know. We need to know the extent of her relationship with the queen. I thought she was just someone Regina befriended to keep an eye on me here, but now I'm not sure. Not with the way she was acting this morning." He could tell all the 'curse-talk' was making Jiminy a bit jumpy, but he felt he didn't have time to argue. Kathryn already felt self-conscious enough having her husband take her to see a shrink. "And by the way, yes you _can _do this," James added with a small grin. "You're a psychologist Arch. You're _trained _in hypnotics. And this way, if anything really _bad _is revealed, we can explain it away as a side effect and keep her under the curse's spell."

Archie frowned. He didn't like the sound of _that _one bit. "Even _if _I believed you, I try to make it a policy not to _lie _to my patients."

Despite the argument, James found himself grinning. Jiminy Cricket – conscientious to the last. "_If _you believed me?" he drew back from him and crossed his arms. "You having doubts already Arch?" He cocked an eyebrow, but he wasn't too alarmed.

Archie sighed, pinching the ridge of nose as he pushed his glasses back into place. "No…I've been over and over what happened and believe it or not," he gave James a small grin, "the most scientificexplanation for _all_ of this…is that it's all true."

James had to chuckle. "Really? The most _scientific?_"

Archie shrugged his shoulders. "There's no such thing as shared psychosis, James," he said, startled by how natural it felt to call him that. "You can't _all _be crazy, so the most logical answer is…none of you are."

He smiled, amazed at how much like Jiminy he really was despite the fact that he wasn't a tiny green bug fluttering in front of him. It was sure great to have him back. "Look, I know you don't…_really_ remember…from before, so you're just gonna have to take it on faith – I would _never _ask you to betray your conscience unless I had a _very _good reason."

Archie turned and gave the woman another glance. She was watching them both warily, like a frightened child huddled in the corner of a closet afraid to come out. Curse or not, this woman needed help. He couldn't turn his back on her no matter what he believed…as he suspected James knew full well already. "All right," he whispered. They walked back into the office and closed the door.

"Kathryn," Archie cleared his throat, scraping his chair across the floor so that he sat beside the therapy couch. "Your husband tells me you're…having some…strange dreams. He watched as the poor woman's eyes darted between doctor and husband, though Archie got the distinct impression she was more afraid of _herself _than either of them. "Can you tell me…what's strange about them?"

Again, Kathryn looked to David, breathing heavily as she wondered for about the eighth time already how in the hell Dr. Hopper was supposed to help. "Well, for starters," she began a little more tersely than she'd intended, "When I have them, I'm not _asleep_."

Archie nodded, keeping entirely focused on his new patient. "Go on?"

She hesitated a bit more, then sighed and shook her head. "And they're not…really dreams. They're more like…flashes, quick pictures of…" she trailed off and looked down in her lap.

"Flashes of what, Kathryn?" he reached out and touched her hand. "Or who?"

She gulped, but his touch did not make her flinch. "P-people," she mumbled, not looking up.

"People you know? Like…David?"

She jerked a bit at the name but still didn't look up. "Sometimes…sometimes David," she glanced up, "but not_ really _David…and sometimes—" she sucked in a breath, her pulse starting to race again as she thought guiltily of the gym teacher— "sometimes people that I…don't know…people I've never seen or met but I…I _feel _like I have."

Archie paused for a minute, becoming aware that James had now settled in the chair by his desk in the corner. Kathryn's back was to him, which was probably good. He watched them intently, soaking up every word. "People like…me?" Archie said lightly, squeezing her hand. The change in his tone caused her to look up. "Do you know me?"

For some reason, she found the sight of him searching anxiously behind his wire-rimmed glasses rather goofy and she let out a sort of hoarse giggle. "No…no I don't know you. I mean I've _seen _you of course…around town but—"

"But not in your dreams," he finished for her with a grin.

She laughed again, "No."

"Well that's a relief…We always want our shrinks nice and neutral," he quipped. "So why don't you hold on to my hand Kathryn, since we're fairly certain I won't be popping up in any flashes, and whenever you get frightened or feel like you want to stop, you just give a squeeze ok?"

His words were soothing, safe, and for the first time in days, her shoulders felt a little lighter.

In the corner James was practically beaming, stunned by how well composed and tranquil his old friend could be with her despite how uncertain and anxious James knew he really was (after all, it wasn't every day a man discovered he'd been a talking cricket who counseled a wooden boy in another life).

Archie caught sight of James's expression out of the corner of his eye and nodded gratefully before continuing. "Now, I think we're gonna have you lay down—"

"What?" Kathryn yelped and squeezed his hand. "I don't want to sleep—"

"Not to sleep, just to relax—"

She squeezed again. "You don't understand Dr. Hopper. _Every_ time I close my eyes. _Every _time I blink I—"

"Kathryn," he said softly, refusing to let her anxiety affect his volume or tone. "You're having flashes of things that don't make sense to you. If we're going to figure them out, you need to relax." She clearly thought the very idea was hopeless, but eventually she nodded and lay back on the couch. "Now remember. Just squeeze my hand when you're afraid and remember where you are ok?" She gave another nod.

Archie cleared his throat, reached for a small glass of water that stood on the nearby coffee table and took a sip. "Now," he took a deep breath, "in a minute I'm gonna have you close your eyes—" she squeezed his hand hard— "but _before _you do," he continued hurriedly, "I want to give you some direction. When you close your eyes, you're going to go to a safe place. A place where you remember feeling at home and happy, ok? Can you do that? Home…and happy." He repeated himself a few times, planting the idea slowly into her subconscious as he made soft light circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. "Home…and happy," he said again, getting quieter. Eventually, her eyes fluttered closed and Archie held his breath as he waited to see if she would suddenly jolt right back out. But the hypnosis was working and she was breathing heavily. "Kathryn?" he called softly, glancing up at James whose eyes were glued to her now. "Are you still with me?"

"Mmm hmm," she murmured.

"Can you tell me where you are?"

She didn't speak for several minutes, and James started to become concerned that she'd fallen asleep. But Archie prompted her again, and finally she responded. "Our summer retreat."

James leaned forward in his chair. Summer Retreat? To his knowledge, the 'Nolans' had no summer retreat. How could they? No one leaves Storybrooke.

Archie looked over, thinking the same thing. "Where is your summer retreat?" he asked, resuming the soothing massage of her hand and wrist.

"The sea side cottage. The day we first met."

James motioned for him to continue.

"Can you…describe it to me?"

Both men watched as an expression of absolute contentment washed over her face and her lips curled into a serene smile. "My father took me there after my mother died. I was 10. It was the only place I could go where I didn't have to worry about acting like a proper princess."

James sprang to his feet, his eyebrows raised high on his head. Archie lifted his free hand up and motioned for him to hang back as if to say _I know I know, I heard it too_. But he also knew that if Kathryn felt the slightest bit frightened, heard a noise that didn't correspond to anything she currently envisioned, their progress would stall and they would have to begin again. In his experience, starting over rarely yielded the same quality of results. "You must have missed her very much," Archie continued in his best shrink voice.

"Very much…she was kind, and lovely, and never once complained about my father's curse."

"Your father?"

"King Midas."

James clenched his fists but remained quite still, afraid to breathe wrong else the trance would be broken.

"Go on…why did decide to visit this place."

"It's where we first met," she said at once.

"Who, Kathryn? Where you met who?"

"He was just a boy then. No more than 12. His father's family maintained the cottage when we weren't using it and managed the household when we took a holiday. He was just a kitchen servant …but I knew that one day he wished to become a knight."

"And how did you…meet?"

"He found me in the gardens. I had run out on my father at dinner. He'd asked me to say a prayer that my mother had always loved and I refused. It was childish but I just couldn't—" she started to squeeze Archie's hand ever so slightly.

"It's ok it's ok," he said as if comforting a child. "I'm sure he understood."

She quieted again and continued, "I was sitting on one of the stone benches in the cherry orchard"…

"_Are you all right, your Highness?" came a voice behind her. _

_Abigail started, but she did not turn around. She had not come out here to be bothered by house servants. "Please…please leave me alone."_

"_Can't do that milady," replied the persistent young man._

"_Really," she straightened up with a hollow laugh, but still refused to turn. "And why is that?"_

"_Because I can't stand to see a pretty girl cry."_

_Abigail gasped. Such a bold statement for one so— but when she finally turned, she was shocked to find the boy standing right behind her, holding out a single yellow daisy. He had a kind though mischievous grin on his face that should have offended her, but instead it just made her curious. It was the height of impropriety really, to speak to the daughter of a king so…casually. And yet, she didn't mind; she had admired him many times since they'd arrived. He was always scurrying about to and from the kitchens, running errands for his mother, and reading tales of the Gods and Goddesses whenever he had a spare moment._

"_It is…risky to speak to a princess in such a cavalier manner," She eyed him carefully, the implied warning quite clear (though she accepted the little yellow flower with a smile)._

"_True, your Highness," he said with a soft chuckle…and then he sat down next to her. Next to Princess Abigail! Daughter of Midas! He plopped right down beside her on the _same_ bench. What did he think he was doing? Mamma would scold her for this. She would—"But it was my understanding that you came here to get away from palace life for a while. To pretend, at least for now, that you're _not _a princess. Right?"_

_Abigail's mouth hung open stupidly and she couldn't find the words to reply. It was no matter though, for he continued as if this were a perfectly normal, proper conversation. _

"_So let's pretend together shall we?" he said with an overly gallant nod of the head. Before she could react, he lifted the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it – awkwardly of course, for he'd only ever read of such things in storybooks. But the sentiment was adorable, and the 10-year-old princess couldn't help but giggle as his young lips tickled the back of her hand._

"_What's your name?" she asked sweetly, her tears drying and eyes lighting up. _

"_Frederick," he said confidently. "But today?" he stood suddenly and withdrew an imaginary sword from his imaginary sheath. "You may call me _Sir _Frederick the Brave."_

"_Frederick the Brave?" she made a face and stuck out her tongue. "Can't you be more original?"_

_He looked down and grinned. "What did you have in mind?"_

_She pursed her lips and leaned both palms back on the bench. She stared at the evening sky, contemplating the question as if it were a serious matter of state. "Sir Frederick the Gallant. Or—" she leaned forward, eyes widening with excitement. "The Gallant Sir Frederick!"_

_He narrowed his gaze at her, seeming to consider the matter carefully, and then gave a very pleased nod of approval. "The Gallant Sir Frederick it is!" he thrust his imaginary sword in the air._

"_And me?" she stood up, suddenly jealous that she didn't have a role._

"_Hmm," he cupped his chin in his hand and circled around her, sizing her up and making more _hmmm _noises that were starting to annoy her. Finally he settled once more in front of her and grinned. "You can be my kitchen maid!"_

"_Your kitchen maid!" she scoffed, outraged._

"_Yes – Abigail the kitchen maid."_

"_Well, I never—"_

"_Hold on," he reached for her as she started to pull away and rested his hand on her shoulder. "You haven't heard the whole story yet. Abigail the kitchen maid is actually…Sir Frederick's most trusted spy!"_

_Abigail spun back around, resentment gone as she bounced a few times on the balls of her feet. "Sir Frederick's spy?" she clapped her hands together._

"_Absolutely! You gave your father the slip already. You're a natural sneak."_

_A curious feeling fluttered about in her stomach and she felt a tiny thrill up her spine. She had been praised as much as the day is long, but for some reason, this boy's strange compliment meant more to her than the most beautiful verse or prose. "All right," she nodded, "except for one thing."_

"_What's that?"_

"_It's _Abby _the kitchen maid," she curtsied before him and giggled. "Not Abigail."_

_Frederick smiled, "Abby it is."_

"Sounds like the beginnings of a wonderful friendship," Archie managed as Kathryn spilled the entirety of the tale like it was a story she'd memorized as a girl.

"I saw him every summer after that," she went on, smiling beautifully as she recalled other moments with Frederick– the day Midas had arranged for him to be tutored, the day he'd been promoted to yeoman…their first kiss…the eve before he was to be knighted when he asked her to marry him…

James listened in awe, not only to the innocent and downright lovely ramblings of a girl as much in love with Frederick as he was with Snow, but to a version of King Midas that so vastly differed from the power-hungry tyrant he'd always taken him for. This was a man who, in seeing that his daughter had a companion she trusted, made it possible for a young kitchen servant to become a knight and then granted him his daughter's hand.

The story made James…quite uneasy. This didn't sound _at all _like the Abigail or Midas he'd raged against for so many years. And this certainly didn't seem like the same woman who, after curing Frederick of the Golden Curse, had turned right around and insisted on a kingdom merger and marriage to a man she didn't love. He caught Archie's eye and made a speeding motion, imploring him to guide her further into Abigail's future.

Archie nodded, and started to stroke the back of her hand again. "Now Abby," he said, hesitant to use the name at first for fear that she'd no longer feel grounded in this world. But it was clear that she was so deeply under that to call her Kathryn now might jar her too soon and yank her to the present before they figured out the problem. "I need you to go further ahead now. Remember, hold on to me if you get scared, but I need you to leave those wonderful days of Frederick behind and try to remember…what has been troubling you."

Instantly her whole body tensed, and both James and Archie sucked in a breath as they prayed she wouldn't jolt herself awake. Her brow creased and her tranquil, nostalgic smile was replaced by a painful frown.

"It's ok Abby," Archie soothed, "just squeeze, remember? And tell me…where are you?"

Her breathing was heavy, ragged, and James actually felt his heart go out to her. Thank the Gods he hadn't ignored her this morning, he thought suddenly. She might have brought all of this up to Regina!

"Wait for me, Abby. Go slowly. Where…are…you?"

"The queen's lair," she said thickly. And James shot forward in his chair.

Again, Archie glared at him to be patient. "The queen's lair," he repeated and winced as she squeezed his hand so tight it went a bit numb. "Why did you go there?"

"I didn't _go _there, I was dragged."

The men stared at each other, slack-jawed. "D-dragged?" Archie asked, struggling to maintain his calming tone.

"Yes," she winced, her head shaking from one side to the other. "No...NO! Please! You can't do this to us!"

"Shh! Calm down Abby, it's ok. It's just a memory. Tell it to me slowly," Archie continued to soothe. "It's just another story. She can't hurt you anymore. Just…tell me what happened."

Kathryn's breathing didn't slow down much, but eventually she seemed to have reached a safe enough distance from her own emotions that she could relate the tale intelligently. "I had been visiting one of the villagers who had a sick child. I was bringing them some of the latest medicines from our apothecary."

"Was anyone with you?"

"No," she sniffled. "I went alone…I told them it was only a mile or two into the village and I wouldn't be gone long. As I was leaving, a few of her guards jumped me. They put a sack over my head and dragged me deep into the forest. I was led through a cavern. I know because it smelled like wet moss. And I was more…angry at myself than anything else…when they pulled the bag off my head"…

"_Princess Abigail," the queen droned from the tall-backed chair of her dressing table. She sat in front of several mirrors, each one perfectly positioned to show off every detail of her face. By the way she primped and preened, Abigail knew instantly who it was. She had never met Queen Regina before, but this certainly _looked _to be a woman who resented_ _that Snow White was 'fairer' than she. _

"_Your Majesty," she said carefully, offering a cursory bow. _

"_My my," the queen sneered as she rose from the table and glided over, the lacy train of her black robe trailing behind her. "I must say I am impressed. Such a proper lady. I have you kidnapped and you still bow to your queen."_

"_Not _my_ queen," Abigail corrected her, "but _a _queen nonetheless." She straightened up proudly and narrowed her gaze. "My mother always said one woman's bad behavior doesn't excuse another's. No need to compromise my own civility just because you couldn't be bothered to pen a formal invitation."_

_Regina's smile remained plastered on her face as she inched closer to the young woman. Abigail was certainly as sharp and spunky as the rumors made her out to be. But she wasn't completely fooled…Regina knew a bluff when she saw one. Without warning, she slapped the back of her hand across Abigail's face and grinned as the girl shrieked in pain. "My apologies," she mocked. "Next time I'll be sure to follow the rules of etiquette more closely my dear."_

"_What do you want?" she cried, nursing her swollen cheek._

_The queen leaned in really close. "A favor."_

_Abigail stared at her astonished, utterly confused as to where this might be going. _

"_Oh!" Regina reeled back. "How rude of me. Would you like something to drink?" she waved her hand and in a black puff of smoke, a goblet appeared. "Some wine perhaps? To celebrate your upcoming nuptials?"_

_Abigail eyed it warily. "No thank you. What do you mean, a favor?"_

_Regina sighed and blinked the goblet away. "Very well – all business, no pleasure." She placed her hand on Abigail's shoulder and led her in front of her mirror. "You see dear, King George and I have this…well, this sort of agreement. And up until a few weeks ago it was going _quite _well."_

_The princess gulped, the mentioning of King George setting off a whole new set of warning bells in her head. "What about it?" This news couldn't be worse: King George and Queen Regina were working _together?

"_Well as you are doubtlessly aware, you and Prince James were supposed to wed and unite your kingdoms. It would have brought your father such joy you know," she jabbed her in the arm with a bitter laugh._

"_My happiness brings my father joy," she countered, rubbing her arm._

"_Ah heh heh…of course it does," Regina waved her off flippantly. "Anyway King George and I have the same problem. A thorn in our side for whom we share equal parts hatred and loathing."_

Snow White, _Abigail thought nervously. Does she know? Had she heard that she and Frederick had arranged a place for them to hide following the dwarfs' siege on the castle? _

"_Can you guess dear? Surely you've figured it out."_

"_Snow White," she whispered solemnly._

"_Snow White! Yes!" Regina cackled maniacally and clapped her hands together in mock adoration. "Snow White indeed – the fairest of them all."_

"_What about her?" Abigail rasped, now scanning the place for an exit._

"_Patience patience," Regina tsked at her as she guided her by the shoulders down to the dressing table chair and studied her many reflections. She looked down and ran her fingers through Abigail's long blonde braid. "You know, Snow has long hair like this, though black – the color of the raven."_

_Abigail stared up at the woman's reflection standing behind her in the mirror. So _those _rumors were true too – this woman was nuts! "What do you want from me?" she pleaded._

"_Oh it's quite simple," Regina stepped back and started to roam which gave Abigail the opportunity to turn around in her seat and study her head on. "You see, King George and I both need Snow White out of the picture. If she continues to lure James away from his responsibilities, he'll never marry you and George will never enjoy the wealth that the kingdom of Midas will provide for his land."_

"_James and I _aren't _getting married," she protested, "my original betrothal was saved! I—"_

"_Shh!" Regina snapped. "Didn't that mother of yours _also_ tell you it's _rude _to interrupt?" Abigail fell silent. "King George has lent me some of his finest knights to hunt down Snow. His entire legion of agents throughout all three realms is at my disposal. You see, he believes with his manpower and _my _magic, we will be able to rid this world of Snow White once and for all, solving both our problems. He will be able to marry his son off to you and I –" she placed a hand over her chest— "I will never again have to live in a world with _her _in it!"_

"_Regina—"_

"_Shh!" she got up really close this time and held Abigail's chin between her fingers. "I know what you're gonna say," she puckered up her lips and in an annoyingly sweet, mocking tone replied, "'I'm marrying Sir Frederick, Your Majesty!'"_

_Abigail felt her heart drop to her stomach and her face go sheet white. Suddenly all the legends, the stories, the horrors told about this evil queen were racing back to her – all those things she could supposedly do – with which of them would she threaten today, she wondered. _

"_See your little rescue of your shining white knight a few weeks ago was touching but was…_most _inconvenient. Midas is set to officially call off the betrothal so that you can be with your little kitchen serf, and because of _that _there's no point in George's continued hunt of James, and no hope of securing fame and fortune for his people or justice for me! So here—" she slapped her hands back down on Abigail's shoulders and shoved her back into the dressing chair— "is what we'd like for you to do: King George needs the merger re-established. If the merger can be re-drawn, _our _original agreement will be restored and I will gain back the resources of his implacable band of secret agents to hunt down Mistress Snow," she spat out the name as it were poison on her lips. "Therefore, you must declare your intentions before Midas that you plan on honoring the merger and going through with marriage to Prince James after all."_

"_Forget it!" Abigail spat. "I'll never—"_

"_Oh yes you will, dear. You see, here' s what you need to know about me…I _always _get what I want. And I have very…persuasive means of doing so," she added and waved her hand in front of the collection of mirrors. In a flash of white light, her reflections disappeared and were replaced by visions of Frederick – the same image in each mirror – her beloved knight, in full armor, mounted on his horse._

"_Frederick!" she cried, her hands covering her mouth._

"_Oh yes, think what will happen to poor Frederick should you refuse to cooperate."_

_Tears streamed down her face as she watched her true love – the man she'd loved since she was ten years old – canter across the plains. He was looking for something – no…someone. He was looking for _her_. The saltiness reached her lips and the tears continued to spill down her cheeks, resting in the corners of her mouth. "No…" she shook her head. "No! Please! You can't do this to us!"_

"_Yesss," Regina hissed, leaning over her shoulder and shifting the image of Frederick back to Abigail's reflection. "I can. In fact…I have a foolproof method of insurance," she chuckled. And the tone of her voice was so sinister, Abigail wrenched her gaze up to the woman just as the witch plunged her hand downwards toward her chest and sank, impossibly, _into _her body. She tried to scream, but the force of the extraction had squeezed all the air out of her lungs and all she could do was sit there, wheezing, staggering, sobbing as the evil queen's fingers reached their destination and her hand closed around her heart—_

"NOOOOO!" Abigail's gut wrenching cry cut through the tension in the room with a terrifying shrill as the trauma of the memory forced her to resurface and she launched herself upwards on the couch. James was at her side instantly, tears welling in his own eyes as he reeled from the horrifying truth. Abigail hadn't wanted to betray them. Abigail had lost a love that had blossomed over an entire lifetime simply because she'd gotten in the way. He loathed himself for thinking so ill of her – how could he have believed it when he was told why George still pursued him? Why hadn't he looked into the tyrant's claims, demanded that he _see _Abigail, _speak_ to her in person? He'd been so worried about what the queen would do to Snow, he'd never even considered…what she'd already done to Abigail.

She was panting against him on the couch, clutching her sweat-stained blouse to her chest, right where she'd felt her heart ripped apart from her soul. Archie looked on from his chair, his glasses fogged up with tears, his jaw dropped. For a while, no one said anything, and not a sound could be heard save for the woman's labored breathing. Eventually, Archie reclaimed a tiny bit of decorum and offered his patient a glass of water. "Here," he whispered, passing it to James. James took it while he still held his other arm securely around her shoulders.

"Drink it," he said softly to her. "It'll help."

Her breathing gradually returning to normal, she finally accepted the water and took a giant gulp. "Thank you James," she said softly.

James froze. "What?"

Her eyes were still closed, her panting still slowing. But at last, she took a huge breath and met his gaze. She stared into his eyes, full of care, regret, sorrow. She looked over at Archie – concerned and perplexed. And then…she smiled. "Thank you James," she said again, and nodded.

"Abigail?" James shifted sideways on the couch and faced her, grasping her by the shoulders and searching her eyes.

She nodded again and, though fatigued, lifted her hand to cup his cheek and flashed him a sardonic grin. "I don't want to marry _you _either," she said.

"Oh Gods! Abigail!" James cried and he drew her into a hug, ignoring the absolutely flabbergasted look on Archie's face.

Archie rose immediately from his chair and stepped back, giving the two of them room. Had that really just happened? Had he actually counseled someone and…and made _progress_? Had he helped awaken someone from a curse in which _he _still slept?...Would Marco be up for a drink at 11:15 in the morning?

"I'm so sorry James," Abigail cried. "I never wanted to betray you and Snow—"

"Are you kidding me?" James gave her another squeeze. "After the hell you went through? _We _should be apologizing to _you_."

"Umm," Archie found his voice and managed to squeak in an interruption. "Can I just…make sure I've got this straight? You," he pointed down at the blonde, "had your _heart _ripped out by the evil queen? I mean…did I hear that right? You weren't being…metaphorical?"

Abigail and James exchanged pained glances, and then turned back to Archie. "Yes," she cringed.

"It's one of her powers…well, _was _one anyway."

She jerked back to him, "but not anymore?"

James sighed and rose from the couch, offering her his hand and pulled her up. "We're not sure. Her magic is seriously diluted because of the curse but…" he thought painfully of Graham, "we _have_ seen her still exerting some extra control over people who—" he stopped short, frowning down at her and not wanting to finish the sentence.

"Over people whose hearts she took," Abigail finished for him. She sighed and stepped away from them, hugging herself around the middle. "So that's it then. We're right back where we started."

"No," James stalked over to her and grabbed her hand. "No we're not. First of all, you're _awake_…which, come to think of it, I'm not quite sure how that happened." He looked up at Archie, perplexed, as if the poor doctor had the answer.

He didn't of course. He'd decided to focus that particular moment on wiping clean his glasses. He now lived in a town run by a mayor who had the power to rip hearts out of people's chests and control their actions. Splendid.

"Arch?" James called.

"Hmm?"

The prince chuckled. "Any idea why Abigail is awake now? I mean if the queen's still got her heart and Frederick isn't even _here_—"

"I – I – I don't know," Archie stuttered. "Maybe i-it has something to do with the curse itself weakening? You've told a lot of people about it now."

James's mouth tugged into a sort of half-frown. "Yeah maybe."

Then something else occurred to Archie, epiphany-like, and he stepped closer to the conversation. "Or maybe for 'Mrs. Nolan' here, or whatever you're calling yourself now dear, perhaps _your _happy ending wasn't about true love. Perhaps it was about redemption."

Abigail blinked, her eyes shifting from doctor to prince and back again.

Archie smiled. "The guilt you felt at betraying your friends, the desire to have them know what really happened, the need for them to understand that you _wouldn't _have betrayed them if you'd had a choice…that's love too, Abigail. The love of friendship."

She smiled at him gratefully, unexpectedly moved by the sentiment. She decided then and there that even if her revival was just a hypnotic-induced fluke, she would maintain that it was actually Archie's explanation for the rest of her life. "Thank you," she said quietly and stepped over to hug him. She sighed and moved back to the center of the room between the two of them. "So…now what? I mean, if the queen still has my heart, I'm still a danger to everyone—"

"No you're not," the prince insisted.

"James, you _heard—"_

"No you're not," he retorted, sidling up next to her. "Look, Snow and I said from the start that the only way to beat the queen is to get enough people in on it, on board, awake – whatever, so when it's time to strike, there's strength in numbers. We're not about to discount you because you have—"

"James, she can _control _me," she argued, shaking her hands at no one in particular. "You don't know what it's like. All it takes is one squeeze and she can make me…" she hung her head low, "do awful things."

"Abigail," James soothed, taking her hand in his. "Is she controlling you _right _now?"

She paused and he saw her glance around the room. "No."

"Have you ever felt controlled by her here in Storybrooke?"

Again, she paused to think. "I don't…think so."

"She can't possibly by watching you all the time. Up until today, she didn't even have enough reason to be suspicious."

"So?"

"So let's just make sure we don't give her one, ok?"

She drew back, "What?"

Archie caught on and wagged his hand at them. "Yes, yes!" he cried. "That's exactly what you need to do. Fool the queen."

Abigail whipped her head back and forth. "How?"

James stepped comically to the side and offered his arm, making an exaggerated bow. "By being the absolute happiest couple that Storybrooke has ever seen."

His absurdity made her giggle, though the bitter memories she'd just relived were still fading.

"Come on," he said a bit more seriously. "She's given us the perfect cover here. All we have to do is make sure she believes it, and she'll leave you alone."

Abigail bit her lip. "You think that'll work?" she asked.

"It has to," James said, and this time, he was definitely serious. "We _have _to be able to shield you and others _like _you when it comes time to _break_ the curse. Otherwise, what's the point?"

Relief overwhelmed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tight, trying not to let the waterworks start up all over again. After spending a few more minutes chatting, getting up to speed, and a few more rounds of thanks to both men in the room, Abigail finally felt, for the first time in over 30 years, that there was hope in the world again.

"Well?" James put his hands on his waist and stood back, appraising her. "What are you waiting for?"

She blinked. "Whadyou mean?"

James glanced knowingly at Archie. "Just what you think I mean. What are you waiting for?...Go find him."

Her heart soared. Frederick. She could _finally _be with Frederick. She could explain everything. "Do you think I'll be able to wake him?" she folded her hands together, her stomach suddenly swirling with tiny butterflies.

James just chuckled. "True love's kiss oughta do it," he winked. "You've only been waiting your _whole _lives."

Without a moment's more hesitation, Abigail flew out of the room, leaving Kathryn Nolan behind for good.

…

*****Whew! Well that one I think surpasses "Lost and Found" in terms of length I think. The more I told of Kathryn/Abigail's story, the more I kept finding how much more there was to it! Hope you enjoyed.**

**The long awaited return of Storybrooke's favorite sheriff is just around the corner (though my student teacher is leaving me soon, so I actually have to go back to being productive in the classroom! Grr)**

**Thanks as always to all of you fantastic readers! Stay tuned for more adventures in Storybrooke and one VERY interesting Christmas tree-lighting event!*****


	24. Laying Groundwork

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Laying Groundwork**

"And once I figured out I was the only one actually growing up, I knew that other things had to be wrong too," Henry explained proudly as he followed Emma around the station like a shadow, chattering away about the curse, his own awareness of it, details from stories they'd already connected with in the town. "And then there were all those stupid dinners." He tugged a little roughly on the straps of his backpack (still slung over his back of course as he didn't plan on staying very long). There was still about a half hour before school started and he was determined to make it there with plenty of time to spare.

Emma filed the paperwork she'd just completed on 'Mary Margaret Blanchard's' kidnapping and shot him a look. "Dinners?"

Henry sighed, hopping up on the desktop and swinging his legs back and forth. "Yeah. The queen would invite these random people over for dinner. People like Graham and Granny. I think Geppetto came once. Even Snow one time!" he added, suddenly remembering back a few years now.

Emma joined him at the desk and leaned the backs of her heals against its edge. "So what happened?"

He bit his lip. "Remember when you first got here and she gave you that basket of apples?"

"Yeah," she said with a light chuckle. "You ripped one out of my hand and tossed it in a gutter."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. "I _did _do that didn't I?" he remembered proudly. "Well, truth is I was just being careful. They probably wouldn't have had any effect on _you. _Cuz they don't on me. But on everyone else?"

"Whadyou mean?"

Again he sighed. "They're dangerous, Emma. There's something…_in _the apples. She bakes 'em into pies for dessert. Makes everyone forget things they remember. She had Pops and Kathryn over a few nights ago and I thought he'd forget everything!"

Emma shifted so that her arms were folded atop the desk now and she was staring up at him. _Pops _she thought affectionately. He _would _give James a nickname. "But he didn't?"

Henry's face broke into one of his ridiculous grins. "Nope. Snow and I got a message to him about the pie. So he came prepared with a fake." He finished with a decided nod as if to say 'Mission Accomplished.'

Emma reached out and ruffled her son's hair. She'd been doing that a lot this morning. For some reason she just couldn't seem to stop. Seeing him arrive at Jefferson's mansion – on her father's horse – had forced everything he'd ever told her into an entirely new light. Information, intel – whatever he wanted to call it – had been staring her right in the face through the eyes of this tenacious little boy. Stories she'd merely humored for the sake of their relationship were now essential pieces of the puzzle. And she couldn't help but be amazed, and a little bit in awe, of how much Henry had figured out all on his own; how much faith he'd had; his steadfast devotion to her, the town. Despite the overwhelming doubts he'd faced at nearly every turn…despite _her _doubts, he never gave up. The thought made Emma cringe and she tilted her head to the side, regarding him thoughtfully as he continued speed-talking about the past few days.

"I mean I can't believe how many people we have on Operation Cobra now!" he was saying. "Not only Snow and Pops but Geppetto and Jiminy and-and—"

"Henry, I'm sorry," she cut in quietly.

He drew back, eyebrows darting down. "For what?"

"For…not believing you."

A bit stunned, he let his mouth hang open. As it would most boys his age, the apology struck Henry as completely unnecessary. She believed him _now_. That was certainly good enough for him. But he also understood on some level that his mom wasn't ready to forgive herself as easily as he had. "It's ok, Emma," he assured her.

She shook her head. "No, it's not. I—"

"_Mom_," he insisted, leaning forward to touch her hand. "It's really ok."

Tears pooled in Emma's eyes as her remarkable son once more rendered her speechless. It was the first time he'd ever called her that. And she was shocked by how much she loved the sound of it. "Ok Kid," she smiled, her voice breaking. Slightly embarrassed, she brushed the tears straight off her temples before they had a chance to fall. "I think you'd better get to school. Don't wanna be late."

"Yeah," he hopped off the desk, slipping his backpack off his shoulders. "I got lucky yesterday. No one ever figured out I left the building."

Emma straightened up and crossed her arms. "Yeah, how _did _you get away with that by the way?"

He shrugged, bending down and unzipping his pack. "Oh you know, the nurse thought I was with the counselor. Counselor thought I was with the nurse." He retrieved the intended object and re-zipped his pack while Emma just smiled and shook her head.

The kid had certainly inherited much from James and Snow, she'd realized in the past several hours. But his penchant for truancy? Definitely his mother's son.

"Here," he said, presenting her with a very familiar book, though Emma stared as if it were the first time she was _truly _seeing it. "I think you're ready for this now."

She ran her fingers over the gold embossed lettering, "Once Upon a Time" then closed her hands around the edges and took it from him. "I dunno Henry," she said, "I think it's done us plenty of good in _your _hands."

But Henry shook his head, re-shouldering his pack and zipping up his coat. "I've read 'em all," he winked. "And you have some studying to do." He smiled and started to leave, almost out the door before he stopped and turned. "Besides," he called back. Emma looked up. "I think things'll get a lot easier for all of you if you just _read the stupid book_!" Again he grinned, unable to resist flashing the wiseacre smirk of a ten-year-old know-it-all. Emma merely nodded, for there was nothing to argue.

There were many calls to return, many messages that were missed with both the sheriff and deputy having been gone the entire day. But Emma could focus on none of it. As soon as Henry left for school, Emma poured herself a cup of coffee (for this would require something a bit stronger than cocoa), settled down at her desk, and began to read…

… "_Don't tell me you're becoming sheep," spat the queen, tossing the letter into the fire and cursing the very hands that wrote it. She would hear no more words of forgiveness. She would endure no longer the pure as snow goodness of her wretched stepdaughter who had cost her so much heartbreak. The last will and testament the huntsman had brought back from his hunt was not welcome._

"_She put others before herself and yet you hate her," the huntsman argued, desperate for some understanding of these humans and their strange ways. Having been raised by wolves, he had learned to paint his impressions of mankind with the same brush strokes, each one just as unworthy as the next of his compassion. And yet his experiences with the princess in the woods – her unparalleled kindness and forgiveness in the face of such vengeful hatred – had for the first time in his life, caused him to question his own myopic view of man. "What did she do to you?" he asked, quite unaware of the risk he was taking in doing so._

"_I shared a secret with her," the queen seethed as the firelight danced in her eyes. "And she couldn't keep it. And that betrayal…cost me dearly." Her grip on the mantle's edge was so tight, the huntsman thought the mortar might crumble apart in her hands. But she turned abruptly and stalked toward him. "Now, show me her heart!" she demanded._

_The huntsman removed the organ stored in his satchel and handed it over without hesitation. Had the queen been paying attention, she might have noticed the very deep breath the huntsman drew as she brushed past him and moved through the heavy iron doors of her secret chambers. But she had eyes for nothing but her newest trophy and, without even a hint of disgust, palmed the heart irreverently in her hands and held it before a stunning stack of gold compartments, each one bearing the dark crest that marked each door of her fortress. She held it before one of the small hatches, closed her eyes and waited. But nothing happened._

"_It should open," he heard her hiss and before she even turned around, he knew it was over. "This isn't her heart!" she whirled on him, marching across the black marble floor of the chamber. "This isn't a human heart! What did you do?"_

_The huntsman did not reply, merely glared at her, determined to hold his ground. He didn't pretend to understand the twisted, sordid history shared between the queen and her stepdaughter, but he did understand compassion. Compassion and love offered by the fair Snow White to a creature so vile and selfish, the huntsman barely recognized the two as beings of the same species. He had known his choice would cost him, but in this moment, staring into the cold black eyes of the queen, he knew he had made the right one._

"_Did you think you can fool me with the heart of a stag?" Regina cried, casting the heart aside. _

_The huntsman cringed as it fell to the floor with an unceremonious splat. Even the poor beast from whose chest he'd torn the heart deserved more honor than this crazed woman. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and headed for the doors. But they slammed closed before he reached them. _

"_You're not going anywhere," the queen growled._

"_She doesn't deserve to die," he said, facing her once more. _

"_That's not up to you." A chilling grin curled into her red lips as she stared down at his armor. "I wanted a heart, and a heart I shall have." And without warning, she plunged her hand through his breast plate and squeezed every last bit of air from his lungs. He gaped at her in horror, unable to move, unable to scream out the agony he suffered as he felt her cold fingers clamping around his heart. The perverted sounds of her fingers squishing around in his chest cavity, pawing at his flesh, were nauseating, and he nearly vomited all over the floor as she yanked her hand from his chest and held before him…his red, glowing heart._

"_What…what are you gonna do to me?" he gagged, collapsing against the doorframe and unable to tear his eyes away from his heart beating thunderously in her hand. _

_Then, as if to prove it was possible to repulse him further still, the queen took hold of his chin between her thumb and forefinger, dipped her head down and kissed him. Hard. She held him there, taking what he did not offer while still holding his beating heart in her other hand. When she tore her mouth away, her eyes were black as death and her blood-red lips curled into an evil smile. "You're mine," she sneered, "My pet." She whirled on him, the ends of her cloak billowing up in his face as she returned to the stack of compartments. Sensing the captive human heart, one of the gold boxes latched open immediately. She held his heart over the open container and turned. "And this is your cage. From this moment forward, you will do everything that I say. And if you ever disobey me, if you ever try to run away, all I have to do…is squeeze." And she did. A soft squeeze at that, but enough to plunge him even further into agony, crumpling to the floor with a painful thud as she screamed for the guards and the doors behind him swung open. "Your life is now in my hands," she cackled, "Forever! Take him to my bed chamber"…_

Emma swallowed hard, about to turn the page when a newspaper suddenly landed atop the script in front of her. Startled by the abrupt interruption to the huntsman's gripping tale, she glanced at the somewhat familiar headline and picture bearing her name and face and then glanced up.

"I leave for two days and you end up with the biggest case this town's ever seen?" smirked the handsome Irishman.

Emma practically leapt from her chair. "Graham!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck without thinking, hugging him tightly as if to ward off the queen's evil grasp on his soul. Having been so thoroughly immersed in his story, her mind had trouble disconnecting the fate of the huntsman with that of the sheriff. It felt almost as if she had just witnessed the whole thing in person, had watched with her own two eyes as Regina ripped Graham's heart from his chest.

Too stunned by the embrace to move, Graham merely allowed his deputy to recover on her own and regarded her thoughtfully as she pulled away with a sheepish look on her face. "Sorry," she muttered, "it's just…it's good to see you."

Graham chuckled lightly. "Likewise."

Emma staggered back to her chair and spread the paper out over top of the storybook. "Yeah um, lots been happening around here. You've missed a hell of a weekend."

"I'll say," said Graham as he sat on the edge of her desk after she reclaimed her seat. "So tell me," he said tapping his finger against the article. "What's the real story?"

Emma blinked. "What?"

"Come on, Emma. I know you're new to _this _side of the law, but I know you _had _to have kept at least something out of the press."

She gulped. If he only knew. She brushed the back of her hand against the picture. "It's all right there."

He stared down, incredulous.

"Honest, it was an open and shut case."

"Emma—"

"There wasn't anything left to solve, Graham. We found and saved her, so there was nothing we needed to leave out of the press."

He looked sharply at the article, his eyebrows lowering even further down his brow. "But…what about Teague? You didn't apprehend him so—"

"Wounded," Emma explained quickly. "And completely vanished. Believe me, we're keeping our eyes open, but I don't think he's coming back any time soon." Graham looked ready to object again so Emma quickly turned the tables on him. "Now are _you _gonna explain where _you've _been this entire time?"

He pulled back. "What do you mean?"

"Graham," she huffed, "Two whole days to drop two kids off in Boston?"

"I sent you texts."

_Right_, Henry's voice cut into her head, _cuz that can't be faked_. She snorted at the memory and Graham rose from the desktop.

"What?" he asked, spreading his arms apart in confusion.

"Nothing, it's just," she hesitated, kicking herself for not having better prepared for this conversation. Jesus, was this how James and Snow had felt this whole time? All this knowledge at their fingertips and yet unable to speak a word for fear of discovery? The horrific tale she'd just read about Graham suggested not only that Regina held unspeakable power over him in the old world, but might still reign over him in Storybrooke as well. Hadn't Snow cautioned her about that very thing?...

"_What difference would it make even if I do have __feelings__ for Graham_? _He's obviously quite happy with his…slutty…skanky…politician!"_

_"Trust me, he's not."_

_"What?"_

_"He's not…happy."_

_"How would you know?"_

_"Because I __know __him, Emma, I've known him for years."_

_"Yeah? He been at __this__ for years?"_

_"You said it yourself. The mayor has her hands in…everything. She manipulates Graham just as she manipulates everyone else. He's…he's __lost __Emma…just like you"…_

She sighed thinking back to that night at Mary Margaret's – er, Snow's. God, had that been only a week ago? Even then, it seemed, her mother had been looking out for her, hinting at truths hidden right before her eyes if she'd only open them to see. In a rage of jealousy, she'd flatly refused to consider any other explanations for Graham's midnight trysts at the mayor's. Even as Snow had assured her there was more to it than that, she'd been unwilling to look beyond what her own experiences had taught her to see. Now, thinking back, it seemed more apparent than ever – Graham had been Regina's pet in the old world, and he remained so in this one.

"It's just what?" Graham was asking, now thoroughly nonplussed by his partner's behavior. She'd actually_ hugged _him upon his return despite the fact that she resented his bringing the Zimmers to Boston in the first place, and now she was staring past him with an odd, glazed-over look on her face. He supposed the kidnapping case had probably distracted her sufficiently from being terribly angry about the kids now in foster care, but he hadn't expected for her to be so…changed. Something was different. Something – something he couldn't quite name.

Emma snapped to it and leveled her gaze. "Graham, about when did you arrive at the girls' home?" she asked sharply, deciding to adjust her approach.

He blinked a few times, thinking back. "Sunday afternoon, 'bout 2:30."

"And you checked in Ava no problem?"

He shook his head, "No I _told _you. There was a – didn't you _get _my texts? There was a snag with the paperwork that needed sorting, and her room wasn't ready so—"

"And didn't you think that was _odd_?" Emma persisted, rising once more from her chair. She did eventually get all of Graham's texts once they'd escaped the mansion. But by then she hadn't really bothered replying since she was fairly certain the entire story was a lie.

"Think what was odd?"

"That there was a problem with the paperwork? Regina pushed everything through _so_ efficiently, everything wrapped up in a neat little bow ready to drive those kids out of town almost as soon as they were discovered, and yet you get there and there's '_trouble_' with the paperwork?"

Graham sighed and pinched the ridge of his nose. "Emma, we've been through this. I don't like what happened any more than you do but—"

"So after you finally checked them both in, you texted it was too late to come home?"

"What _is _this?" Graham gaped at her. "An interrogation?"

Emma snapped her mouth shut. God, this was hard! How could she possibly share the same confidence with Graham that she had when he left? How, when she knew so much now and he so little? _No one leaves Storybrooke_, came Henry's voice like a song stuck in her head. And no one did. If they did, bad things happened…and Graham was back and good as new. So he _couldn't _have left. Couldn't have reached Boston. But if he couldn't…where did he go?

She studied his eyes carefully and sighed. Her 'superpower' hadn't failed her yet. Even when she knew 'David Nolan' was hiding something, her instincts about him were right. And they weren't failing her now. Graham _believed _he'd been to Boston. He wasn't lying. Not purposefully anyway. She sighed and plopped her forehead into her palm. "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to…to find…"

"To find a happier ending?" Graham's Irish brogue was deep and soothing as he brushed the back of his hand down her arm. She started at his words, for he had no idea how accurate they really were. Emma nodded, not trusting herself to say anything more. (She'd have to speak to James soon. She had no idea how to be all crafty and cryptic yet). "Look," Graham said, sitting once more on the desktop. "Mary Margaret told me what happened when you went back to Tillman's."  
>Emma sucked in a breath, wincing at the sting of that particular memory and the horrible fight that followed.<p>

"I know how that must've tore you up," Graham continued. "So I want you to know, I'm not closing this case." She blinked and stared up at him. "Until we know for _sure _where Michael Tillman is, we'll follow every lead…together. I promise."

Emma smiled. Apparently, whatever evil Regina had done couldn't rob Graham of his goodness. He was every bit the kind soul she originally took him for. "Thanks," she muttered. Graham gave her a wink and then turned toward his office while Emma stood there biting her lip. Wherever the Ava and Nicolas _really_ were, it was probably a safe bet they were still somewhere in Storybrooke. Otherwise, Graham wouldn't have come back. At least, that's what she told herself to assume for the moment. In reality she knew she could make no such assumptions. No theory was too crazy to consider in a world that now included giant portals opening up in shoddily-made hats and animals that seemed to understand perfect English. The wealth of possibilities of what Regina _might _have done to them, with them…it was staggering, and Emma grew queasy just thinking about it.

She peered over her shoulder as Graham unlocked his office door and switched on the light. _Dammit_, she thought, pounding her fist lightly on her desk. She knew it couldn't possibly be as easy as Graham coming back and saying _Hey Emma, Regina kidnapped me and the kids and are holding them prisoner in a cabin somewhere._ But she'd hoped there might be at least some kind of clue. Some part of his story that didn't add up. So far, everything was at least plausible, except—

"Graham," she said suddenly as he stopped halfway inside the door.

"Hmm?"

"You texted that your car broke down just outside of Boston yesterday, and that's why you stayed another night?"

He gave her a wary look. "Yeah?"

"So, did you…" she hesitated, grasping for something…_anything_. As casually as she could (though she felt ridiculous) she shoved her hands in her back pockets and asked, "did you call Triple A or something? I mean, whoever you got was probably no Marco right?"

And as lame as she thought she sounded, Graham chuckled. "No, he was definitely no Marco. Mike's Auto Service in Sommerville," he said casually and continued inside.

She thought a moment more. "A-and where'd you stay?"

He leaned back out of the doorway, the wary look returning again. "Holiday Inn, just off 93."

Emma nodded with a gulp. Two questions both with solid answers. No hesitation. Not even pausing to think.

"Is that all, Deputy?" Graham added with a sardonic grin, though still looking a bit suspicious.

She gave him an awkward chuckle and slumped back in her chair. Graham was telling the truth – at least he _thought _he was. And he had answers for everything, like he was pre-programmed. She probably didn't even have to look online to see if there _was _a Mike's Auto Service in Sommerville or a Holiday Inn off of 93 (though she fully intended to check). And she was betting that any investigation into those businesses for a paper trail would only turn up a stack of nice, crisp, freshly filed receipts. To sustain the curse for this long, over this many people, in _this _world, Regina would not only have to harness a shit load of a magic, but know the ins and outs of business practices in America. If she followed these leads to Boston, she would find everything _but _the kids.

Talking with Graham would get her nowhere. At least she'd figured out that much. And as nice as it felt to have him back (_too _nice in fact, if she was being truly honest with herself), she knew that prodding him for more information would only lead to more suspicion on his part and might even get back to the queen. No. She needed someone who knew about the curse. Someone she could trust now with any secret. She needed (she realized almost giddily as she pulled out her phone) her parents.

…

"But all I'm looking to do is help out a little," Rose protested, growing more and more irritated by the thin, grouchy woman at the front desk. "Isn't the hospital always looking for volunteers?"

"_Volunteers_, yes," the woman replied (who in truth wasn't all that grouchy; Rose was just frustrated). "But you said you're looking to join the housekeeping staff here. That's a paid position, Miss French. And we're simply not hiring at the moment."

Rose threw her head back and sighed, tapping her fingers against the countertop. Kicking Jack out of her house and her life had been more empowering than could ever remember feeling. She'd driven straight to the hospital with a sense of purpose, a clear head and – for the first time in days – a settled stomach. Even the fact that she was now fated to be a single mother, knowing she would raise her child alone, hadn't fazed her. But now, other consequences of her decision that morning were coming to light. She couldn't keep Jack out of her life if she kept working at Garcon's. And she knew she needed some way of getting back up to that 3rd floor psych wing. Applying to Storybrooke General had seemed like the perfect plan. She had never seriously considered the possibility that they might not be hiring.

"There's really nothing? Not even part time?"

The receptionist regarded her sadly, cocking her head to the side as she removed her glasses and let them hang from a light silver chain around her neck. "As I said," she reached over and slid a pink application form across the counter, "we're always looking for volunteers."

Rose glanced down at the application and sighed. 'Volunteer' wouldn't do. Volunteers weren't paid, and she needed to at least remain rational enough to make sure she could still earn a living; after all, her father's medications weren't exactly free. And volunteers probably weren't allowed on the third floor either. Still, it wasn't the receptionist's fault; she clearly wasn't in a position to direct her otherwise. "Thanks," Rose mumbled, taking the form and folding it sloppily into her pocket. She turned to leave and when she did so, that awful feeling returned to her belly. It was that same pull she'd felt the last time she'd been here. That ache in her stomach which screamed for her to stay…to _find _him. But it was no use. She would have to think of something else.

Slightly dejected, she walked the long corridor back to the lobby area of the hospital and nearly walked by the small jumble of people fussing around a woman being helped into a wheelchair. "This really is ridiculous, Dr. Whale. I'm _fine_," the woman said, and her voice gave Rose pause.

She halted at the front door and spun around to find Dr. Whale and Ruby Moon from Granny's struggling to get Mary Margaret Blanchard into the chair. "Mary Margaret!" she cried, the image of the morning paper flashing in her head.

Snow looked up, straining her neck around Whale's forearm. "Rose!" she called back, smiling. Unfortunately, the lapse in concentration had allowed Ruby a leg up so to speak and the waitress successfully flattened her down into the chair.

"I just read about you this morning," Rose exclaimed, scanning the scene. The reports appeared to be true. Mary Margaret's ankle and a good part of her calf were in a cast and she had some slight bruising around her neck. Dr. Whale and Ruby stood on either side of the chair, Whale fussing with last minute vision checks and Ruby adjusting the strap on her fur purse. At last she reached them and clasped Mary's hand. "I'm so glad you're ok."

"Thanks," Snow smiled up at her, equally glad to see her old friend with some color back in her cheeks. Something was definitely…different. But she couldn't tell just what (and it was _impossible _to focus with Whale shining a flashlight in her eye!). "Dr. Whale, _please_," she insisted, pushing his wrist away from her face. "I told you, I feel fine. And I can manage very well with the crutches."

"It's hospital policy to be wheeled out, Miss Blanchard. And I'd still feel better if you stayed another night," Whale rose from her side and ran his gaze up and down her form. He'd feel a _lot _better if she stayed another night. The raven-haired Mary Margaret had bewitched him so intensely, he'd found it difficult to focus on much of anything else last night. Three times, he visited her room, always under the pretense of running tests, checking levels, scans, ensuring there was no additional bruising or concussion. But he'd exhausted all excuses by now and could only lamely suggest that it was just "a good idea" if they could observe her a bit longer.

"Absolutely not," Snow demanded, ignoring his wolfish gaze. The man had moved way beyond just 'a little creepy.' She'd felt downright stalked in this place. If she had to guess, she'd say that Storybrooke's resident Emergency doctor had developed a rather unhealthy crush…which didn't seem likely given their one disastrous date when she was still just 'Mary Margaret.' Those memories all blurred together now, but she did recall that he wasn't the slightest bit interested in her then. "I want to go home, Dr. Whale."

"Joseph," he insisted. "Or…Joe."

Rose looked curiously between the two as Ruby rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and blew a bubble through her gum.

"Joe," Snow conceded grudgingly, but shook her head again. "Thank you for your concern, but it's not necessary."

Whale sighed and retrieved a business card from his lab coat pocket. "Well," he cleared his throat, "if you need anything, don't hesitate to call ok? Any time."

At that, Ruby let out a rather obvious huff, blowing her hair off her face. "Well thanks Doc, we'll be seeing you," she said impatiently and started to push Mary Margaret toward the door.

Rose couldn't help but laugh at the absurd little scene: Whale's advances rejected, Mary Margaret trying to remain patient thought clearly annoyed, and Ruby the archetypal younger sister, clearly wishing she were _anywhere_ else. She turned to leave with them, her business at the hospital also concluded…for the moment. Mary Margaret smiled at her as she joined the little entourage and the three ladies stepped out into the cold circular drive of the hospital.

"Don't even _think_ about getting up until I pull the car around, M," said Ruby, fumbling in the pockets of her tight parka for her keys. She glanced up sharply at Rose and removed the crutches laying in Mary Margaret's lap.

"Hey!" Snow said, and then quickly gave up, slumping down in the chair and resting her chin on her palm.

"Here," Ruby thrust the crutches into Rose's arms. "Keep an eye on her," she ordered and then headed to the parking lot.

"Ugh," Snow whined. "She's almost as bad as Whale."

Rose chuckled. "They just want you to be extra careful," she said, propping the crutches up against the back of the chair as the two watched Ruby receded further into the dense parking lot.

"Jeez, where did she park?" Snow cried as her friend got smaller in the distance. She had thought briefly of calling James and asking him to drive her home this morning, but quickly thought the better of it. They'd definitely had a close call with all the business at Jefferson's mansion – and she wasn't entirely sure the cover story was going to fly with everyone. It was best to be as Storybrooke-normal as possible, and though Ruby wasn't nearly as close a friend to 'Mary Margaret' as Red had been to Snow, she knew she could trust the old girl to give her a ride.

"I'm really glad you're ok," Rose said quietly.

Snow glanced up from her chair at the woman who was staring ominously into space. She seemed genuinely happy to see her, but also very far away. "Thank you," she said tentatively, then reached across her chair and touched Belle's hand. "Are _you _ok?"

Rose started and looked down, immediately flashing her a nervous smile. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

Snow nodded back at the hospital doors. "Is it…your father?"

Rose looked back too, then remembered and rolled her eyes. She really needed to do a better job of updating her friends (of course, until this week, she hadn't really _had _friends to update in the first place). "No no, Dad's home."

Snow reeled back. "He's home? That's wonderful!"

She smiled again. "Yeah, he's doing great."

They were silent for a few moments, watching as a very tiny Ruby-shaped dot finally found her beat up Ford. "Rose?" Snow tried again, Belle's anguish so palpable, it was chilling the already cold December air.

Rose looked down and sighed. "It's just…nothing."

"Tell me," Snow persisted, squeezing her wrist.

Rose sighed. "I—" she waved her hand dismissively at the sliding doors behind her – "I tried to get a job on their housekeeping staff here but…they're not hiring."

Snow blinked. "The housekeeping staff?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Why? I thought you hated hospitals."

Again, Rose sighed. "I know but…" she trailed off, fumbling for something feasible. "This place has…done so much for my dad I just…wanted to, you know…give back."

Snow nodded, though not at all convinced. "Would Jack let you have the time off?" she asked cautiously.

Rose's jaw tightened immediately. "I…don't think I'll be working for Jack anymore," she said firmly, though shuddering as she drifted back to that morning in the living room.

Snow leaned back in her chair, suppressing a relieved grin. "_Really_?"

"Yes."

"Good for you."

Rose looked down. "You think?" she asked, her expression suddenly pained.

"Rose, he wasn't the guy for you…_trust _me."

"I know, but he's…" and again she stopped short of spilling everything. She'd already done that once with Sean. She didn't want to monopolize another friend's time with her pitiful problems. "Nevermind."

Snow was about to reply when Red pulled up and honked the horn, startling them both. The saucy waitress put the car in park and started back toward the walkway as Snow tugged lightly on brunette's sleeve and urged her forward. "You know…whatever it is you're not telling me…I promise I'd believe you," she whispered with a smile, leaving a bewildered Belle on the walk as Red joined them.

"All right, crazy lady," said Ruby, offering her arm and taking the crutches from behind the chair. "Easy does it."

Snow laughed. "Thanks Ruby."

The two hobbled her down the small slope, and Ruby opened the car door as Rose helped Snow inside. Then she secured the crutches against the floor, letting them lie upwards between the passenger and driver seats. Ruby took the chair and wheeled it back to the lobby.

With Red once more out of earshot, Snow looked back to Belle. "I mean it, you know," she added, and again Belle looked shocked.

"I know you do," she said, almost laughing. "And I don't know why. Why do people keep saying things like that to me?"

Snow leaned forward. "Because we care about you, Belle," she said…and then gasped.

"What?" Rose cried, pulling back.

"We…care about you," she gulped, knowing it was fruitless to try and cover up the blunder. She must have been knocked around more than she thought in Jefferson's back seat. She hadn't _ever _slipped up like this. Not even with Ella! "I…uh…I don't—"

"You called me Belle," Rose hissed.

"I'm sorry, I don't—"

"_You _called me Belle."

"Rose listen—"

"Have you been talking to Sean?"

"Sean? No I—"

"Oooook," came Ruby's voice as she marched around to the driver's side, seemingly oblivious to the intensity between the other two. "Let's get out of this joint, I'm hungry."

Snow looked from Red back to Belle, panicked. "Rose, I—"

"Me too, Ruby," Rose said abruptly. She braced her hand on the car door and stared down at Mary Margaret. "Who wants lunch?"

…

Once she thoroughly explained her plan to the queen, it was not difficult for Circe to obtain the skeleton key that opened up the back service entrance of Garcon's. It was nearly 1pm by the time she returned to the back dirt lot where Jafar sat waiting impatiently. Once Jack had wasted considerable gas mileage driving around town fuming, he'd ended up at his bar, presumably to take his mind off of his unfortunate setback that morning with Rose. Circe had ordered Jafar to stay put, to ensure that the brute did not leave the tavern while she went to speak with Regina. Some might consider the key an unnecessary detail; a woman of her power could simply…knock. But in her experience, any decent seduction began with a solid entrance.

"It's about time," Jafar seethed, uncrossing his arms as he pushed himself off the driver's side door of his Oldsmobile. "Remind me again why I allowed _you _to have a hand in this?"

Circe removed her black scarf and red coat, tossing them casually into the car after extracting the key from her coat pocket. "Because I understand the beast better than you, my friend," she purred, sidling up next to him.

Jafar gulped, momentarily paralyzed by her form. Having shed her bulky fur, gone was any remaining mystery of what lay beneath those folds. Her hair she swept back into a tight clip, baring her silky smooth neck that stood out against the slim, black suit jacket fitted tightly to her voluptuous curves. The jacket dipped down and buttoned at her navel, with only a silky red shell beneath, barely stretched over the swell of her breasts. She wore a charcoal grey pencil skirt which, despite its conservative taste, still managed to accentuate her hips and waist in _all _the right places, and her long, slender legs seemed to go on forever as Jafar ran his hungry gaze all the way down to her black heels.

Circe expertly placed her index finger beneath his chin and curled it into his goatee, forcing his gaze up. The transformation was astonishing to the old vizier, but she slipped in and out of the role of temptress as easily as one donned a pair of gloves. "Stay here, darling," she whispered, unable to resist a penetrating kiss that she knew would keep him rooted to the spot. Her charms in this world, of course, were far less effective than they had been in the old realm…but she was still woman…and Jafar was still a slimy old man. Without any further explanation, Circe sauntered over to the door, inserted the key, and stepped inside.

Garcons' back room was just as musty and odorous as the front, but Circe did not allow it to throw off her game. As slippery and slick as an eel, she crept down the dark hallway toward the only light – Jack's back office. As she peered around the corner, her lips curled into a pitying smile as she observed him from behind, holding his head in his palm as he skimmed over piles of receipts and purchase orders. She ran an appraising gaze over his broad shoulders and back, smiled as he scratched his fingers through his jet black hair – he was an exquisite specimen. The finest male physique she had lain eyes on in years. She could have fun with this one, she thought. But shook her head. She had seen enough of his black heart to know him to be unworthy of her gifts, her rewards. And this was not surprising. No man on Earth had ever proven himself worthy. No man…save for one.

"Hard at work, I see," she cooed from the doorway.

Jack sprang up from his work table and whirled around, crying out as he reached around instinctively for some blunt object he could forge into a weapon. "Who – what the hell – how did you get in here?" he cried, but already her charms were working. His eyes swept over her sensual form, taking in and memorizing every curve.

"The door was open, Sweet," said Circe casually as she stepped into the room. "Buy me a drink?"

…

"He's been in my head ever since," Rose said with a pained sigh. "In my dreams, every time I close my eyes…everywhere."

Snow was fiercely attentive, hanging on every word of Belle's remarkable story. It was a good thing Red had opted to just "borrow" a bite from Granny before her diner shift instead of joining them at Tony's. Otherwise, there wouldn't be much either of them could share (Red had always been very open minded, but her Storybrooke counterpart was as cynical as they come).

Tony's Deli was also a bit less crowded than Granny's and the booths were tall and private. As soon as they sat down, Rose immediately began pouring out details of the past few days, unabashed and uncensored. She no longer cared why confiding in Mary Margaret, or Sean for that matter, felt so right. She no longer questioned why it _wasn't_ strange that they _didn't _think she was crazy. With every word, every breath, she felt she was inching closer to the truth, and strangely, she _knew_ that once she finally got there, she would need some allies. "That's why I was trying to get on staff at the hospital. So I could get in to see him again," she glanced up from the teeth of the fork she'd been intensely focused on as she'd relayed the bizarre details of that night and those that followed. "I-I wasn't gonna say anything back there but…but when you called me Belle—"

"I didn't mean to startle you like that," Snow said immediately, covering her hand. "Believe me, I know how…jarring something like that can be." And she did. Only moments before James had kissed her, restoring her memories, she'd been petrified. She loved this man but didn't _know _him. And yet he was staring at her as if he'd known her for _years_.

"It's ok," Rose shook her head, taking a gulp of ice water. "Just...tell me."

Snow bit her lip. Was this really the right way? Sure, Geppetto and Jiminy understood the truth without being woken but they were surrounded by mounds of evidence, a magic horse, Henry's book and an overwhelming majority of believers. Snow _alone_ couldn't possibly restore Belle's happy ending without Adam here, and the last person to whom she'd tried to gently reveal the truth about the curse without him being awake was Graham – who'd summarily flipped out and bolted from her classroom, running a fever of what had to be at least 103.

"Mary," Rose said quietly. "Please. Tell me. Why did you call me Belle? Why do I feel this way? What…what am I missing?"

Snow took a deep breath. "I think the only person who can really answer that…is _him_," she sighed, not trusting herself to go further.

But Rose shook her head. "No. No, I know you know more than that. You have to tell me—"

"If I do, it might make things worse—"

"How can things get worse?" she cried, tunneling her fingers through knotted locks of brown hair. "I'm pregnant with one man's baby while having fantasies of another–in another _world_ not my own. A world where he _also_…calls me Belle." She leaned forward, clasping both of Mary's hands in her own. "You _have _to tell me."

Snow studied her very carefully. She was certainly in a much better frame of mind than Graham had been. And if Adam was somehow reaching out to her – and if this really was all connected to her baby – then maybe…just maybe…

"Ok," she nodded at last, straightening up in the booth and ignoring the pain shooting up her leg as she whacked her cast against the stone table leg. "Ok, I'll tell you what I can, but you've gotta _promise _me that no matter what I say, you won't go flying out that door."

Rose didn't hesitate for a second. "Deal," she said, leaning in, feeling very much all of a sudden like Jane Marple in an Agatha Christie book.

Snow took another deep breath. "For starters, I called you Belle because your name _isn't _Rose…and mine's not Mary Margaret."

…

"And that was it. After everything I gave up for her. Everything I sacrificed, she threw me out of her house!" Jack spat as he stared into the seemingly bottomless tumbler of booze he'd been downing since 1:30 that afternoon. He still wasn't sure how this vixen had gotten into his bar, but three drinks later, he didn't really give a shit. There was still plenty of time before he opened, she was sexy as hell, and she didn't seem to mind (unlike the rest of the female population) that he was wallowing in self-pity and drowning in sorrows brought on by another woman.

"How unbelievably selfish of her," Circe soothed, leaning in closely and drawing the tips of two fingers over his rough, bronze forearm. He shivered at her touch, but gulped down another swig of beer rather than respond. "You know," she continued, undeterred. "If I had taken a man like you to my bed…there's not a chance in hell that I would keep it a secret." Jack looked up at her, his vision blurry and mind growing cloudier by the minute. Circe dipped her hand beneath the bar rail and stroked her palm along his outer thigh as she purred into his ear. "I'd shout it from the rooftops," she whispered…and he went rigid down below.

"Damn right," he muttered, swinging his legs around on the stool so that he faced her. He grabbed her hand from his thigh, clasped her other one too and pulled her up, spreading his legs so that she stood between them. "And what else would you do?" he growled.

Circe flashed a devilishly wicked smile, eased her wrists from his grasp almost without effort and smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "Well," she licked her lips playfully. "I would be sure to take advantage of every…inch…of this," she moaned and dragged her hands all the way down his chest, his abdomen, his hips…

Jack stopped her just short of his crotch and gripped her arms, crushing her to him with such penetrating violence he felt he might explode. He sealed his mouth over hers, wrenching her lips apart with his tongue, licking and devouring every inch of her face with blind fury until he almost couldn't draw breath. He was lost in her scent, her taste, forgetting where he was, feeling strangely hazy and…familiar…

"Baby," she whispered against his throat as she rained kisses down his neck and along his chin. He pulled back, plunging his fingers into her hair – which he'd sworn was jet black – but now looked rather chocolaty. Her voice was different too – softer, sweeter. Closing his fingers around fistfuls of hair, he yanked her head back and stared at her, shook his head, and then studied her some more. _Wow_, he thought with his last shred of lucidity that night, _I must be really drunk_. "Don't fight it," she continued to croon as she cupped his face in her hand. He continued to gape as the woman he beheld was not the strange black-haired minx who broke into his bar. It was Rose.

"That's right, Baby. Take me back," she pleaded continuing to shower him with kisses and sweet ramblings, praising his masculinity, begging him to forgive her. Jack immersed himself fully in the illusion, surrendering himself to sensations so real, he could no longer see any remnants of the temptress's form. In his duped, drunken state, all he saw was Rose.

Circe of course, knew precisely how the brute would take to the delusion. The bulk of her magic was tied up in the curse like the rest of them, but she still had a few tricks up her sleeve. She couldn't actually transform of course, like she used to, but the power of her suggestions (and a little inebriation) could turn any man into her pawn…_almost _any man. "I don't know what I was thinking," she said sweetly, as she felt his tongue run down the length of her neck and suckle at her collarbone. "How could I have let you go like that?"

"You tell me, Baby," he mumbled against her skin, consuming her like an addictive drug.

"I think," she rasped, gasping at his ministrations, playing him like a song. "I think it all started when you hired Sean."

Jack froze and then reeled back, gripping her wrists so tightly that if she'd _really _been Rose, she would have winced in pain. "Sean?" he snarled. "What _about _Sean?"

Circe again seemed to expend no effort to extract herself from his grip and stroked her fingers through his black sweaty hair just above his ear. "Oh you know," she coaxed, still imitating Belle's voice. "Think about it. Everything was fine until Sean got here."

Jack shook his head, scowling. "You tellin' me you've been screwin' around with Sean?" he bellowed.

Circe nodded. "You couldn't see it? He's just been so…_nice _to me, you know? When we were having problems? He…" she paused and leaned forward again, whispering, "…he comforted me, Baby."

"Oh he _did_, did he?" Jack bolted up from his stool and stumbled in a sort of strange zig zag pattern on the carpet. "Well…we'll _see _about that!" he tripped up the small step to behind the bar and retrieved a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. In a flash that would have startled anyone else (but once again didn't seem to faze Circe) he smashed it against the railing, glass shattering everywhere. "You keep away from him, bitch! You hear me?" he cried, waving the jagged edged bottle in her face.

"I will Baby! I will," Circe exclaimed, putting the finishing touches on her performance as she folded her arms atop the bar. "But don't take it out on _me_."

…

Within minutes, Circe left Gaston and settled back into Jafar's passenger seat while her puppet stumbled about inside, crashing into walls in his drunken rage like a broken pinball machine. Her charms on Jafar, however, hadlong since worn off, and he glowered down at her, jamming the keys into the ignition while he positively fumed. "Would you care to tell me, dear sorceress, why after _all _that, you sent him after the _wrong _prince?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, the mirage of temptress gone, her quiet serenity once more restored.

Jafar threw his hands up in the air. "You sent him after _Thomas_," he said in manner that demanded explanation.

"My dear Jafar, you weren't eavesdropping were you?" she smiled ironically. "Don't you trust me?"

Jafar ignored the question. To even acknowledge it would sport with his intelligence. "We're _supposed_ to be getting him to _kill_ the _beast!_

"Of course we are," replied Circe, draping her scarf around her neck and pulling on her gloves. "And if we get him to take care of Rodmilla's little pest in the process?" she glanced at him sideways, "is that a problem?"

Jafar grumbled as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back into town. It was true, he had no love for Cinderella or her prince either…but _she _wasn't the one who had come dangerously close to freeing his most dangerous patient. Plus…Jafar didn't trust Circe. Not one bit. "I'm beginning to wonder about your commitment to the Council, Circe," he sneered. "Why _is _it that one of the realm's most powerful enchantresses never _could _figure a way around Adam's immunity?"

Circe didn't reply.

"Is it because, perhaps, you have conflicting loyalties, my dear?"

Circe didn't reply.

"A little…soft spot for the one who…got away?" he goaded her.

_Soft spot_? she smirked to herself. What a poor choice of words. Soft? No indeed. Not soft at all.

"Come on, witch," Jafar glared at her as he turned onto Main Street, knowing he was getting warm. "What haven't you told us about the night Adam transformed?"

Circe…didn't reply.

…

The sounds of Marco's torch in the next room were music to James's ears as he and Thomas sorted through strands of Christmas lights in the garage. He remembered long ago, many nights he would return to the palace after an arduous day of interrogation in the mines. He would spend hours upon hours drilling Rumpelstiltskin for information and learning more about magic than he ever cared to know from Grumpy. The only thing that sustained him was coming home to Snow, but not before stopping by to see Geppetto – torch lit and whistling away as he worked on the unicorn mobile. It was a joy to be working in tandem with the old craftsman and his trusted cricket again; the fact that neither remembered anything of their true identities was of little consequence. They were Geppetto and Jiminy through and through – themselves in every way that mattered. In fact, the thought occurred to James, it might be even more significant that they believed _despite_ still being cursed. It gave James hope that he, Snow…and now Emma (he smiled, remembering her earlier texts) could reclaim their kingdom by simply inspiring enough people to believe rather than having to wake every single soul.

"And he just…disappeared?" Thomas asked as he shook out a rather frustrating knot of bulbs.

James nodded. "Sucked back into Wonderland, we're assuming."

Thomas shook his head and blew out a sigh. "Too bad," he mused more to himself than to James. "Sounds like we shared some common enemies."

James glared up from beneath his brow. "He was a lunatic," he said, remembering the horrific sight of the hatter pulling his daughter down toward the abyss.

Thomas held his hands up, supplicating. "I know, I'm not debating that. It's just," he sighed and paused for a moment. "He was at least someone else who's awake. Someone…_not _in the psych ward of Storybrooke General." James shrugged, conceding the point, but not for a second regretting his actions regarding Jefferson.

It had been a rather enlightening morning, though he did have to endure a bit of abuse from Thomas at first. _"Where the HELL have you been?" _wasn't the kindest greeting he'd ever received in his life (though he'd had worse). But James more than made up for his long absence with information. After Marco, thankfully, sent 'Leroy' off on a few errands, James had been able to tell Thomas the entire story, starting with his and Snow's discovery of the caverns and ending with Abigail's awakening in Archie's office. Thomas was thrilled to know of so many who were now in-the-know and was especially happy to hear that James had revealed the truth to his daughter – that she had accepted him as her father and that their family was once again whole.

Thomas, in turn, had filled James in on everything he'd learned from Belle (well…_almost _everything). He'd kept the pregnancy to himself. Knowing that Adam was alive, awake and being held captive was quite enough for his friend to handle without the added worry that came with the possibility of Belle carrying Gaston's child. Besides, Thomas was still hoping in vain that by some miracle the baby actually _was _Adam's. It was possible wasn't it? After all, his Ella had spent the past 28 years pregnant. Couldn't the same be true of 'Rose'? But the only person who would know for sure was Belle herself and without her memories restored, wishful thinking helped no one.

"Did she give you any idea of what she was planning to do about that?" James asked, giving up on one strand entirely and moving on to another. (This project was getting more and more frustrating by the minute. What he wouldn't give for some pixie dust right about now. Who the hell could sort out all these little bulbs for a 20 foot Christmas tree?)

"Who?" Thomas asked.

"Belle."

"Oh," he sighed. "No. I tried to hint her in the right direction but…I don't know she's just…dealing with a lot."

"Well, when you think about what Circe put them through—"

"Splendid to see you looking well, my dear," came Geppetto's voice barreling through the doorway. "They're right through here."

Startled, both princes looked up, breaking into identical grins as Snow White hobbled her way into the garage.

"Thank you Marco," she smiled gratefully, honoring his request to go by his Storybrooke name until he remembered something of his other life.

"You're quite welcome," he replied with a grin, glancing back through the doorway at something else.

Thomas meanwhile had been unable to contain his excitement and, before James even moved, actually raced to the door to pull his old friend into a tight hug. "Snow," he whispered, holding her tight, ignoring the clatter of one of her crutches slipping to the floor. In the back of his mind, he knew he should have probably allowed the woman's _husband_ the first greeting, but he was too elated to yield to etiquette. For _days_ he'd known that Snow was awake from the curse, that she'd visited his house and helped Ella gain back a little of herself, that she and James were working together to free their people and unite their family in the process. But he hadn't actually _seen _her since before he'd broken free of 'Sean.' "I'm so glad you're ok."

Snow was beyond moved by the young prince's embrace; for her too it had been too long. In fact, the last time she had truly seen _Thomas _was the night Rumpelstiltskin's capture had gone so terribly wrong and they'd feared Ella's husband lost forever. She peaked over Thomas's shoulder at James, who stood patiently by the work bench, smiling at them both. Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she finally pulled back. "It's good to see you Thomas," she whispered.

"Here, lemme help you," Thomas bent down, retrieving the fallen crutch and handing it back to her.

"That's all right," she waved him off immediately. "I've got it."

"You sure? You—"

"Thomas," she flashed him a warning grin. "I've got it."

James chuckled and shook his head, staying right where he was, for he knew better than to offer his tenacious wife any assistance. He did feel a touch of regret as he glanced down at the bulging cast (she wouldn't be riding Cain any time soon…or Blossom if they found her). But it wasn't Snow's first battle wound, and he knew she wore it proudly…for it was a small price to pay for saving her daughter.

"We were just talking about Belle," Thomas was saying as Snow backed them both into the room.

"Really?" Snow replied with a sly grin. She reached James and gave him a teasing kiss as he slung his arm around her shoulder and breathed in her cinnamon scent. "That's funny. I was just talking _to _Belle." She glanced back at the door.

James and Thomas both turned round again and bolted upright when they saw the woman standing over the threshold with Marco close at hand. "Rose? Er, uh—" Thomas looked back at Snow— "Belle?"

Both Snow and Rose nodded, though the latter felt dazed and overwhelmed. She glanced over at Sean – Thomas. A young man she'd known only a few short weeks, and yet hadn't he just yesterday seemed almost like a brother? And his friend David – James…she'd felt something there too a few days ago at Garcon's. Something familiar in the kind man's face. Mary Margaret's – or rather Snow's_ – _lengthy explanation of the curse, the queen, the town…it was literally out of this world. She wasn't exactly sure yet whether or not _everyone _here, herself included, should be headed to the 3rd floor of Storybrooke General. Still…she had no wish to argue. It was the only explanation that could account for the feelings and memories she'd been having of this…Adam…this _Prince _Adam.

"Hi," she said hoarsely, for it was all she could manage at the moment. But it was enough.

"Belle," James said, crossing over to her. "Do you…remember us?"

Rose gulped and Snow thankfully answered for her. "No, but she _knows_ James. Like Marco and Archie." The princess smiled warmly at the craftsman now joining them in the garage.

"I know how you feel, my friend," the old man said, coming up behind Rose and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It is…much to take in, yes?"

Rose stared at him, surprised by the instant relief she felt upon knowing there was someone else like her – someone else who _knew _but didn't remember. "Yes," she said, clearing her throat. "It's…a lot."

"But it won't be long now before she _does _remember," said Snow with _just _a dash of pride. She clapped her crutches together and leaned them against the work bench. "Gentlemen?" she braced her palms behind her on the edge of the wooden counter. "We have a plan."

…

*****For those of you who are students of Greek and Roman literature, yes – Circe is more an amalgam of Circe and Calypso from Homer's "Odyssey" in this story. But if the show can play around with the details of long-established legends of the fairy tale world, I say the Greeks are fair game too!**

**Sorry this one took so long. As I warned you in my previous chapter, my student teacher LEFT me! So I actually have to teach now, haha. Summer vacation just around the corner though. Plus I'm kind of already motoring through on the next few chapters, so hopefully it won't be as long next time!**

**Big shout out to Fruitality! Thanks for all the kind words! You don't do signed reviews so I can't ever reply, but I really appreciate yours and everyone else's reviews. Big shout out to Rebecca too who keeps me real. **

**Working up to one very fateful Christmas Tree Lighting. So stay tuned*****


	25. Assembling

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Assembling**

"So?" Snow leaned back from the large table at which the group was seated, "what do you think?"

James looked pensively at his wife before responding. They were gathered at one of the garage's work tables. Marco was beside Thomas on one side while the girls sat on the other. James was leaning against the back door with one leg crossed over the other ankle directly behind Thomas's chair. "Well it's…risky," he said.

"_Very _risky," Thomas added, leaning forward and looking over to Belle. "And if this doctor who saw you there isn't…friendly, I don't think we can afford to wait until Thursday."

"No," James shook his head, "that's not the risky part. It actually makes a lot of sense to wait for the tree lighting. Everyone will be over at the emporium. Including the queen. That probably means less staff and less security on Thursday night—"

"But that doesn't mean they won't do something to Adam or-or move him somewhere in the meantime," the young prince argued. "We need to move on this _today_."

"If they haven't gotten rid of him by this point, Thomas, it's a safe bet they don't know how," Snow replied. "We all know that Circe's curse left Adam with some…advantages."

"Are you willing to risk her happy ending on that?" Thomas snapped, pointing his finger across the table at Belle who shifted uncomfortably.

"Hey," James placed his hand on Thomas's shoulder, concerned about his young friend's sudden impatience. "It's better than her marching back in there today after they just turned her down for a job."

"Could you all stop talking about me like I'm not in the room?" Rose said, splaying her palm in the center of the table as she glanced between the two men. "Believe me," she said to Thomas. "There's nothing I wanna do more than go right back in there and get some answers." She leaned back and took a deep breath. "But Mary—Snow is right. This way is…better. And if what you're all telling me is true, and this man really is…my husband," she ignored the flushed warmth in her cheeks as she said it, "then I don't want to take any chances."

The group fell silent, each one privately considering the plan's possible flaws. Thomas's leg for some reason wouldn't stop bouncing up and down, and Marco looked quite worried. But it was James's doubts that bothered Snow the most. "What?" she glared up at him, calling his attention back from his distant gaze.

He frowned, choosing his words carefully. "It's just…dangerous, Snow. Getting answers is one thing. But breaking a man out of a secure wing with only you and Belle on the inside, not to mention your injury—"

"It won't_ just_ be us though. I told you, Grumpy—"

"Isn't awake yet. He isn't even close."

"So? Neither is Marco," Snow raised her voice, gesturing toward the craftsman. She turned to him sympathetically, "no offense."

Marco chuckled. "None taken."

"Well that settles it then," Thomas kicked back from the table with an exasperated sigh. "We should just _tell_ Grumpy too…we're telling everyone else!" His voice was tight and clipped. James shot him a look that went ignored.

"We could but we won't have to," Snow insisted. "I don't think we have a prayer of waking the dwarves unless we get them all together in one spot, and we still have no idea where Bashful is. But 'Leroy' is every bit the grouch that Grumpy was. He'll go along with it just to cause trouble."

"Still," James began again, "I'd feel better if you two weren't going in alone—"

"And _I'd _feel better if you could all pick a slightly less _obvious _spot for a powwow!"

The group collectively spun around to see Deputy Swan standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she had a set of keys dangling from beneath her wrist.

"Emma!" Snow cried, unable to keep from grinning as wide and goofy as Henry had that morning.

Thomas and Marco were both immediately on their feet and James moved around the table to greet her. "Believe me, we didn't plan it this way," he said, motioning for her to step down into the garage and join them. She met him halfway into the workroom and James made immediately as if he were going to pull her into a hug. She moved too, but at the last minute hesitated. Awkwardly she reached for him, then stopped, shifted to his side and ended up sort of half hugging half clapping him on the back. He smiled at her warmly though, and seemed not to mind her reluctance as they turned to join the rest of the group. She looked down, a bit flushed, as she reached the table, wishing she had just gone ahead and hugged him. She certainly wanted to. Since texting him that morning, she had so been looking forward to meeting up with her father over at the garage and, well…talking shop. But the presence of so many other people here threw her a bit, and the newness of suddenly finding herself with parents – and not just parents, but loving and devoted parents who had never intended to abandon her – still clashed with that tough exterior she'd clung to over the past two decades. She glanced over at Snow, who was also smiling, and the expression in her mother's face shone with such understanding that Emma instantly felt better.

"How are you?" she asked Snow, glancing down at the ankle cast.

"Just fine," Snow replied, still beaming. "Released this morning."

It was then that Emma noticed Sean Herman standing across from her as well as the quiet brunette seated beside her mother. "Sean?" she asked, darting her gaze between her parents as she offered the young man her hand. She hadn't seen Sean since the day she'd accosted him on his doorstep and guilted him into helping his pregnant girlfriend.

Thomas stepped around Belle's chair and shook her hand. "It's actually Thomas," he said, "good to see you again, Deputy."

"Thomas," Emma repeated slowly, "right." Bits of information from yesterday's ride back to town in Archie's jalopy were coming back to her. "And Ashley is really—"

"Ella," James finished for her, glancing over at Thomas. "As in, Cinderella."

Thomas grimaced slightly, but didn't object. After all, that _was_ the name with which most of this blasted world was familiar, Emma included. Though Thomas really couldn't fathom why so many fictional incarnations of his bride willingly went by the name that her stepsisters had contrived to mock her.

"And this is Rose," Snow leaned forward in her chair, gesturing toward Belle. "Though that's not what we used to call her," she added with a wink.

Emma looked down. "Emma Swan," she said shaking the woman's hand. "What'd they _used_ to call you?"

Rose glanced around the table, still feeling keenly the pressure of living up to this new identity. "Belle," she said quietly.

Emma's eyes widened. Belle. As in _Beauty and the Beast_? She'd seen the film of course as a kid and was familiar with the tale. For some reason, this revelation seemed stranger than discovering Snow White was her mother. How many other famous fables lay dormant in this town? Were there _any _fairy tales characters left who _weren't _real? "Nice to meet you," she said, recovering. "I take it you know about…all of this?"

"_Know_, yes. But…like Marco I…don't _remember_."

She nodded, feeling strangely akin to this new member of 'Operation Cobra.' After all, she looked as shell shocked as Emma had felt yesterday. "Well," she pulled back, surveying the group and taking a deep breath. "Graham's back."

This was news for everyone except James who had of course learned a bit from their texts that morning.

"As in Sheriff Graham?"

"Did you find anything out?"

"Can you tell if anything happened to him?"

The questions came rapidly, one after another, but all basically pondered the same thing: where had Graham _really _been in the last two days…and was there a chance that the Zimmer children were with him.

"I don't know," Emma was saying as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. She'd relayed her entire conversation with Graham that morning, filling in the blanks about Ava, Nicolas and Michael Tillman for the others along the way. "If he saw anything, I don't think he _knows _he saw it. He's got a perfect alibi to account for every minute of the last few days," she paused and looked over to her father, "and I'm sure he _thinks _he's telling the truth."

James nodded, understanding better than anyone what it meant to have Emma's trust. "Well it's a safe bet that he didn't actually make it to Boston."

"But that he so firmly believes he _did _makes me think that Regina somehow altered his memory again, just like she did to all of us," said Snow, shifting slowly out of her chair to retrieve her crutches.

"Whoa, hey. Where are you going?" Emma said, rushing over to her mother.

"To go talk to Graham," Snow said matter-of-factly, positioning the crutches under her arms.

"Why?"

"To see what else I can find out."

"Snow—" James followed her as the group collectively made their way toward the short hallway which led back to the front lobby of Collodi's.

"If Emma asks him any more questions herself, he'll get suspicious," Snow continued to stride toward the doorway, "but if _I _show up as a friend, independent of Emma then—"

"Miss Blanchard," the group heard as they started to emerge from the garage into the main entrance.

The blood in Snow's veins turned to ice as Emma reached back and clasped tightly to her wrist. Regina had just entered the shop…with her adopted son in tow.

James reacted first while the two women were halted in the doorway. Belle and Thomas were still trailing behind them and couldn't yet be seen by the mayor. James snapped his fingers and waved them off. Thomas immediately pulled Belle back into the garage. The younger prince understood that Regina seeing both him and Belle could make this poorly timed discovery of the 'Charming Family' all together at Collodi's look even worse.

"Regina," Snow finally replied, pushing herself out into the vestibule with her daughter close behind.

"I didn't know you had been released yet," Regina said as she observed both Mary Margaret and Emma emerge from the back room.

"Hi Miss Blanchard! Hi Emma!" said Henry cheerfully from the queen's shadow. Then he winked, and despite Emma's surge of hatred for the woman standing there with her son, Emma smiled.

"Hi Henry," she said.

"I'm glad to see you recovering so quickly, Mary Margaret," Regina said in short clipped tones and narrowed her glare as she watched James emerging behind them. "How odd though that you're…here, and not at home resting."

Snow recovered seamlessly. "I just wanted to stop by and thank Mr. Nolan and Miss Swan for their help. I was on my way to see Dr. Hopper after this."

"Well isn't that funny," Regina replied, though her tone betrayed the fact that she found nothing of the sight before her the least bit funny. "I came by to…thank Mr. Nolan as well."

…

From beyond the garage door, Thomas stood pressed against the corridor wall while Belle huddled close beside him. He strained his neck, trying to determine if the queen sounded suspicious – though Thomas couldn't imagine her _not _being suspicious. James, Snow and Emma all coming out of the back room of Geppetto's shop so soon after having all disappeared from town? Even if the queen hadn't yet figured out who Emma was, she'd have to be pretty thick not to suspect that something of her precious curse was amiss.

"What is she saying?" Belle hissed behind him, and only then did Thomas notice how tightly he was squeezing her wrist.

He loosened his nervous grasp. "She's congratulating James for his heroics," he muttered; then he listened a bit longer. "She's…gonna give him some sort of award…at the tree lighting." He strained his neck to listen. "A…key to the city," he added. But just then, something arrested his attention away from the lobby, and he and Belle whirled around, staring at heavy metal knob jiggling erratically at the back door. Belle gasped as Thomas moved toward, but before he could reach it, the metal lock clicked and the door cracked open.

Thomas, expecting it now to be Leroy returning from Marco's errand, was about to shush the scruffy mechanic upon his entrance, so he was quite unprepared for the rather fit young man who walked in the door, his dusty brown hair hanging slightly in front of his face.

"Easy, your Highness," the man whispered with a grin, holding his hands up to show that he was not a threat.

Thomas blinked, gaping at the man who looked vaguely familiar but whom he could not place. He glanced at Belle, who shrugged with equal confusion, and then looked back at the one who had called him Highness. "Do I know you?"

The man closed the door quietly and shook his head. "No Sir," he muttered, "but I know of you. My cousins served you and your father for many years."

"Thomas," Belle urged, "who is—"

But the man put a silencing finger to his lips and shook his head, pointing back toward the lobby and motioning for them to resume their eavesdropping. "It's all right, I'm a friend," he whispered. "We'll explain in a minute." He nodded toward the lobby entrance and added with another grin, "help's on the way."

…

"That's really not necessary, Mayor Mills," James was assuring Regina in his very best I'm-trying-to-stay-calm-here-but-I'm-afraid-any-mi nute-my-wife-OR-my-daughter-will-gouge-your-eyes-o ut voice.

"Nonsense, David. What you and Dr. Hopper did—"

"And Emma," Snow insisted harshly, standing beside the fuming deputy and giving her a squeeze of the wrist.

"Of course," Regina said through gritted teeth. "As I mentioned yesterday in front of City Hall, we are certainly fortunate to have Miss Swan working for the sheriff's office."

Henry stifled a grin, enjoying the confrontation far more than any of its participants. He could feel the resentment from his evil stepmother through her tight grip on his shoulder; it was as if she could barely stomach having to give credit to his birth mother in front of him.

But Regina maintained her composure and cleared her throat. "We will of course be rewarding the Deputy with a commendation—"

"Don't worry about it," Emma muttered.

"But Miss Swan was simply doing her duty," she turned back to David, "whereas you and Archie went well above and beyond. A small town like this loves a good Samaritan."

"Hmmph," Snow spat, crossing her arms. "So Emma is less of a hero just because she's a deputy? If that isn't the—"

"It's ok, Sn— Mary Margaret," Emma covered her blunder. _Dammit! _she thought to herself. She'd grown so quickly accustomed to calling her mother by her real name, she hadn't really trained herself yet to shift back and forth when needed.

The three 'charmings' held their breath as they studied the queen who stared between all of them with equal suspicion. Had she heard? Did she suspect? Were they all about to be royally screwed?'

"David!" cried a voice as a woman burst through Collodi's glass doors.

Snow, Emma and Regina all gaped as Kathryn came rushing to James's side and threw her arms around him. "Oh, sweetheart isn't it wonderful?" she exclaimed, planting a big old kiss on the mouth of a slightly bewildered prince.

"Kathryn," Regina spluttered as she finally relaxed her grip on Henry and approached the counter, "what are you—"

"Oh Regina, I'm sorry," replied the blonde as she affectionately ruffled James's hair. "I just came from Archie's office and he told me all about the—" she stopped herself, threw her hand up in front of her mouth in surprise and bugged her eyes out. "Oh dear, did I ruin it? Have you told him yet?"

Regina shook her head. "No, you didn't ruin it, but I don't see—"

"A key to the city, sweetheart. Can you believe it?" she cried turning fully to her pretend husband once more. James, who had by now caught on, smiled broadly and pulled Abigail to him, wrapping his arms affectionately around her middle and drawing her into a deep kiss.

Regina stood there…gaping, as did Emma, Snow and Henry who were all far too stunned by the rapidly changing state of things at Collodi's to do anything other than gawk.

James finally pulled away from her and allowed her to hitch herself onto his arm before turning to the mayor. "I guess that settles it, Regina," he said with a grin, patting Abigail's hand with his own. "It would be an honor to accept the award at the tree ceremony." He glanced lovingly at Abigail and added, "as long as my wife can be by my side."

Henry was absolutely beside himself, and anxiously rushed forward to put an end to this madness. What was Pops _doing? _Had he somehow reverted? He gulped hard, trying to force down the gigantic lump that had formed in his throat as he opened his mouth to speak, but just then Emma's hand clamped over the back of his neck and stopped him. He looked up, and his mother shook her head at him, keeping him for the moment by her side.

"Kathryn," Regina cleared her throat as she approached the seemingly happy couple and drew her friend away from him. "It's um…it's wonderful to see you so…happy about this. But," she dropped her voice as low as it would go, but it was a small lobby so Emma overhead anyway. "I thought you two were…I mean, I thought we talked about—"

"Oh those rumors? Oh, Regina I'm so glad you mentioned that," Abigail replied, leaving her side and walking over to a very confused Snow White. "All a misunderstanding. You were such a good friend to warn me, Regina, but it turns out that all our worrying was for nothing."

Out of sheer curiosity and bewilderment, Snow allowed herself to be led by the hand of the blonde tart that had just been slobbering all over her husband to stand in front of Regina. But at that moment, she caught James's eye and read in the look all she needed to see: he would explain later (he _better _explain later); for now, she must play along.

"Mary Margaret and David got to be very good friends. I just didn't know how good until I confronted them about it," she gave Snow's elbow an affectionate squeeze. "It turns out, she was helping him surprise me for our anniversary!"

"Your anniversary?" Regina cried. "But Kathryn…dear, that's in March."

Abigail scoffed and rolled her eyes so comically, James had to stifle a guffaw. "Not our _wedding _anniversary!" she glanced back at James. "The anniversary of the day we met." She turned back to Snow who had plastered a smile across her face. "Miss Blanchard helped him plan the most romantic picnic. He was going to surprise me with it the night he disappeared. I'm so glad you're ok, Mary Margaret. It…it gives me a chance to say thank you."

"Oh Kathryn, it was my pleasure," she managed, gulping a bit on the words, but flashing the room a warm smile to help progress the deception.

The two women looked back to a now thoroughly perplexed Regina, who in turn studied them carefully, looking from one to the other and back again. Finally, the slightly greenish tint to Snow's cheeks gave her the satisfaction she needed. Perhaps she _was _aware. Perhaps she _hadn't _imagined that Emma almost called her 'Snow', but this – she watched as Kathryn returned to her charming husband and kissed him again – this was better. It clearly pained the white wench to look at 'David' and 'Kathryn' together. This was suffering enough for the time being, and she turned to retrieve Henry from the deputy with a satisfied grunt. "Well then, I will see _both _of you at the tree lighting at 7:30 sharp. Come on Henry," she yanked the boy away from his birth mother and trotted him toward the door. Before she left, she paused and looked back to Snow. "You certainly have a way of bringing people together, Mary Margaret," she sneered. "Isn't it wonderful to see true love win out?"

Snow offered a weak smile before mayor and son departed. The room was sort of halted like a museum shadow box, everyone waiting as Regina's car pulled away from the shop. Then James and Abigail turned to each other…and burst out laughing.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Snow demanded, leaning forward on her crutches in such a way that suggested she might easily pick them up and use them as weapons.

"Yeah, what _was _that?" Emma agreed, coming to stand by her mother.

James recovered from his hysterics, stepped to the side of his fake wife and gestured in the guise of a game show emcee. "Princess Abigail, ladies and gentlemen," he announced, making an exaggerated bow as Thomas and Belle finally emerged, their own mystery guest in tow. The young brown-haird man sidled past the two princes and and joined Abigail at the counter, slinging his arm around her shoulder and kissing her squarely on the lips.

"We heard everything, Pretty Girl," said Frederick. "You were brilliant."

"Who the hell is _that_?" Emma shouted, thrusting her forefinger at the strange man, wondering just how many more surprises there were in store for today.

"Rick?" Snow asked of the man as James came to stand by her. Just what was Henry's gym teacher doing at Collodi's? (Although seeing 'Kathryn' kissing someone who was _not _James instantly improved her mood). "What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story, Your Highness," replied the knight, who threaded Abigail's arm through his own.

Snow, surprised but pleased to be addressed in the old ways, glanced up at her husband. "I gathered _that _much."

"It _is _a long story," James nodded, sweeping his gaze around the room. His eyes landed on Thomas who was braced against the wall near the garage door, arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. "So let's not delay the telling of it."

…

Abigail was practically in tears when she finished her story, seated once more at the round table in the garage. It clearly pained her to have to relive, for the second time today, the horrific memories of Regina ripping out her heart and forcing her to betray her lover and her friends. However the presence of Frederick, her _true _betrothal at her side, made this second telling far more bearable. And in the end, most of the room was in hysterics after over the farcical performance she'd just given as the doting Mrs. Nolan. Why she'd been so convincing, even James had been fooled.

"I believe you missed your calling, Abigail," James said, rising from the table to retrieve a cup of coffee from the small pot on the work bench. "You might have had a brilliant career on the stage."

Abigail laughed as she reached for and clasped Frederick's hand on top of the table.

"So after you and James saw Archie this morning," Emma leaned forward in her chair, pointing at the couple, "you went straight to the school?"

Again, she chuckled, beaming at her beau. "More like sprinted."

"How did you know Frederick was there?"

"I ran into her there yesterday, actually," the knight answered. "I didn't know who she _was_ then, of course. She was looking for you," he nodded to Snow.

Snow shook her head, torn between relief upon discovering that 'Kathryn Nolan' was now and ally and fury for having yet another reason to despise her stepmother. Was nothing sacred to that woman? Was there _anything _she wouldn't destroy for the sake of her own twisted revenge? Vengeance for a wrongly perceived injustice committed by an 8-year-old girl? She glanced over at her daughter, who had been rather quiet save for a few smart questions, and knew she was thinking the same thing: how much longer would it be before Regina's crusade threatened Henry? She shook her head and turned back to Abigail. "I take it Regina planted some idea about 'David' and I having an affair?"

Abigail nodded. "That's why I went to the school yesterday. I was going to confront _you_ but," she squeezed his hand again. "Frederick found me first."

"Yeah, then _she_ found _me_ today and cornered me in the equipment closet until I…woke up," the noble knight added with a sly grin.

"And now Regina thinks you and James are happy little homemakers again," Belle added, putting the pieces together as she sorted through the events of the day. "Smart."

"We thought so," the blonde concurred, glancing up at James.

But the prince had stepped away from the table and had walked over to Thomas who stood glaring at Operation Cobra's newest members from afar. As the group continued chatting, James settled beside his friend, mimicking his stance by crossing his arms over his own chest and leaning his back against the door.

"I wanna tell her," Thomas mumbled, in a voice meant only for James to hear.

James nodded. "Ella?" he said, though the confirmation was unnecessary. He'd sensed his friend's mounting frustration from the moment he'd learned about Abigail this morning.

"Give me one good reason not to," Thomas replied, not taking his eyes off the table. "I mean, look at how many people know, James. Look how many people believe without even remembering."

Again, he nodded. "That's true."

Thomas huffed. "But you don't think I should, do you," he said, and it wasn't a question.

James shook his head. "I honestly don't know." He gestured back to the table where Geppetto was assuming his rightful role as sage when talk turned to plans for Belle and Snow at the tree lighting. "Marco and Archie were just…looking after Henry at first. They happened to stumble across some pretty serious magic that couldn't be explained any other way. Belle?" he pointed at the brunette. "She's having visions of Adam. Dreams of a man she's never met before and she needed answers." With a heavy sigh, he turned to his friend. "But you tell me. Has Ella said or done _anything_ to suggest that she needs…answers?"

Wishing like hell that James would stop making so much damn sense, Thomas slid his eyes shut. He thought for a moment and then remembered something. "She called me 'highness' yesterday," he said, his eyes flying open with a jolt of hope.

"She did?"

"Yeah she was teasing me and said…well she said something," he muttered, deciding to maintain a little privacy. "Something she also said to me on our wedding night. _As _Ella. She laughed it off of course. Said she didn't know where it came from, but she's _in _there, James. I _know _she is."

James placed a hand on his shoulder. "Of _course _she's in there. No one is doubting that. The question is…is it right to try and _force _her _out_?"

They fell silent for the moment. Something Marco had just said at the table had the rest of the group laughing, but Thomas was not the least bit curious about what it was. He'd struggled for hours with this frustration, this envy. He knew on some level it was childish. That he should be happy so many people were now either awake or at least aware, that the balance of power in Storybrooke was shifting to the side of good. But in seeing Snow reunited with James and Abigail with Frederick, Thomas felt far more acutely the pain of his Ella still asleep in the curse. "A few days ago, I might've said no," he answered softly. "But not anymore, James." He turned to face his friend fully. "I'm sorry, I know you want me to be…patient. But let's face it. Things are a lot different now than they were the first night we met at Garcon's." James looked down and nodded, knowing there was no argument there. Things were certainly different. "Your plan's a good one, but with everything happening, we've _barely _gotten started on it."

"I know," James insisted. "Believe me, I had no idea that—"

"And I'm not blaming you," Thomas said firmly. "I mean with Jefferson kidnapping Snow and you saving Emma, and Belle and Adam, and now Abigail? It's been crazy around here, I get that. I haven't even _started _working on my father yet. But _especially _with so many people now threatening the curse…" he paused and took a deep breath, afraid to voice the next part, though feeling it no less keenly, "…you and I both know Regina will never allow us to get as far as a wedding."

James cringed at the thought, but didn't argue. "I know," he said softly.

"Somehow, she and whoever else is working with her will do something to stop it," Thomas continued. "She's not about to let one of the three royals from _her _realm regain that much happiness." His breath hitched in his throat as he went on. "I want Ella to _know _me, James. _Me_. Not Sean. Before anything else happens to us, I want her to know she's _not_ with some asshole college kid who abandoned her when she was pregnant, but with _me_…her husband…who _never _would have left by choice. Not in a million years."

James shook his head, knowing how much it killed the prince every day to live with the memory of having acted so dishonorably as Sean, for being able to do nothing about it except apologize to 'Ashley' and wish for the day she might awaken. But they'd seen first hand with Graham how volatile people could react when faced with truths they weren't ready to learn. "And what if she…doesn't take it well?" he asked.

Thomas turned back to the room and thumped back against the wall. The women were huddled around Abigail now, asking her to recount again how it felt to put one over on Regina. "Honestly?" he thought with a light chuckle, his eyes falling on Snow. "She'll probably just run to your wife…which wouldn't be a bad thing either."

James too looked over to Snow whose radiant smile lit up the room as she laughed. He glanced sideways at Thomas and nodded, conceding the point.

"I'm not…asking for your permission you know," Thomas said quietly.

"I know you're not."

"I ust…hope that you…"

"I understand," James assured him, turning to face him again. "I really do."

Thomas smiled for the first time all afternoon and gave him a nod. "Thanks."

"When?" James asked.

"Tonight…after my shift at Garcon's."

…

James promised Thomas he'd prepare his wife. He would make sure Snow was home tonight and ready for Ella to come bursting through her door, worried that her new fiancée had totally lost it. But as the night wore on, Thomas became more and more convinced that that wouldn't be necessary. Ella was _so _close. Every time he looked at her, he could see Ella shining more and more through Ashley's eyes. All she needed was a little push. A little push and a little magic. And with Emma's newfound faith in the world, in them, Thomas knew that "a little magic" might not be so hard to come by in the presence of true love.

So by the time his shift was winding down, Thomas was practically giddy as he closed down his station, washed the last of his glasses and headed out. He couldn't _wait _to tell her. To prove once and for all that she had nothing to fear, that he would never leave her again, that he hadn't_ really_ left her in the first place. In fact, he was so focused on what he would say, how he would approach the subject, that he'd barely noticed the strange looks he was getting from Jack all night. The owner had grumbled something vague about Rose calling in sick, but Thomas knew better. Belle had tossed Jack out of her life that morning. She wasn't sick; she was free.

Still, had he not been so preoccupied with Ella, Thomas might have caught on to the seething hatred aimed toward him the second he'd walked in the door. The looks of fury, the death glares every time Jack came out to the bar to help fill drink orders. Thomas was so used to Jack being in a foul mood it never occurred to him that he was angry about something _other _than his confrontation with Belle that day. Nor did he take note of just how much alcohol his boss was downing throughout the night. As such, Thomas was completely unprepared, as he pushed through the heavy metal doors of the back entrance and headed into the dim parking lot, for the very real danger he was in. He was halfway to his car, visions of he and Ella truly reunited filling his head, when something hard and heavy came crashing down on the back of his neck. The world went white. Shards of pain streaked through him and before he could recover, his spine was struck again with another hard blow. With an agonizing crunch, Thomas crumpled to the ground.

"You think you can plow it wherever you want, don'tcha Herman," he heard a raging voice bellowing over him. "You think you can screw around with her and I wouldn't know?" The object struck him again, this time on the side and somehow he registered that he was being beaten with a heavy metal rod – a crowbar maybe? Tire iron? It struck him a third time, and then again…and again, and soon Thomas had yellow and purple spots dancing before his eyes.

Trying desperately not to vomit from the nausea now gripping his gut, he tried to regain some footing. He managed to block one hit with his arm, straining it upward in a futile show of defense, but this momentary block only seemed to anger his assailant more and Thomas's other arm was swept out from under him. Again, he tried to recover, bracing his hands against the pavement, pushing himself up on all fours. But a steel-toed boot slammed into his gut and he collapsed to the ground with a thud. He was on his side now, clutching his stomach as he writhed in agony. The boot had torn through the skin and his tee-shirt soaked through with blood.

"Get up!" the voice thundered above him.

Once more, Thomas tried to move, angling his body so he could at least get a look at his attacker. But the pain was so excruciating, his vision clouded over, and it was all he could do not to lose complete consciousness. "Who are…what do you…"

"You come here begging for a job, you pathetic pussy…and you repay me by fucking my girl?" Two hands seized Thomas's shirt and pulled him upwards so that he was sprawled on his back while Jack held his torso off the ground by the collar. Every muscle in Thomas's body screamed in pain as he was moved, but he was powerless to fight it. "You stay—" Jack's fist slammed into his jaw. "Away—" another crack across the face followed by the sickening crunch of bones shattering. "From Rose!" Jack pulled his hand back, ready to land one final blow and somehow, Thomas _knew_ this was it. There was no reasoning with this lunatic. It happened almost in slow motion. The second Jack leveled that final punch, Thomas knew he was finished. He couldn't take the hit. He'd never had a chance. He slammed his eyes shut and visions of Ella flashed before him. Her lovely form clothed in white satin as she descended the spiral staircase of the castle to begin the wedding feast. Her tear-stricken face as she confessed her darkest secret – the deal she'd struck with Rumpelstiltskin about their baby. The first time he'd held Alexandra in his arms – his awakening, their reunion. His proposal, her kiss…it all flashed before his eyes as he peered up through swollen flesh and cried out for his wife, for his Ella.

Jack's fist sailed downward, aimed squarely between the eyes, and just before he delivered the final blow, the world froze…and the punch never came. Thomas's eyes flew open, Jack's fist mere inches away from his face…and then it was yanked from view. Thomas crashed back to the pavement, staring up at the stars as he heard more struggling and grunting and growling close by. He strained his head to the side, ignoring the searing agony coursing up his spine as he moved his neck. He heard Jack cry out just as the fight came into view and Thomas gasped as he observed a man, his rescuer, driving punches into Jack's gut again and again like someone who'd been trained in hand-to-hand combat. The man was slightly shorter than Jack and was dressed in baggy jeans, boots and a black leather jacket. He had black straggly hair fringing down in front of his eyes from beneath a skull and cross bones stocking cap. Thomas caught a glimpse of silver chains dangling from his jacket and, in his delirium, followed the swinging of the chains more than the fight itself. After a few more strategic hits and a well-timed kick to the groin, Jack finally staggered away, disappearing down an alley as the man tugged down on his jacket, wiped the sweat from his brow and returned to Thomas's side.

"Who…" Thomas wheezed, but he couldn't quite form the words.

The man didn't reply. Instead he reached into Thomas's pocket and pulled out his cell phone, flipped it open and dialed 9-1-1.

"Please," Thomas tried again, struggling to stay awake. "I have to…"

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" came a throaty, male voice through the speaker.

"There's a man in the parking lot behind Garcon's Tavern in West End. He's been beaten. Send an ambulance." The man's voice was cold, monotone. And he did not respond to the dispatcher who was asking for more information as he dropped the phone down on Thomas's chest.

Only then did Thomas get a glimpse of his face, right before the man turned and strode away. His eyes grew wide when at last he recognized his rescuer. He opened his mouth to call him back. To shout for him by name…but the words wouldn't come and the man broke into a sprint as the sounds of sirens drew near. And just as the man disappeared into the night, Thomas's eyes rolled up into his skull and the world went black.

…

"So Kathryn – or um, Abigail was originally betrothed to _you_," Emma pointed over at Frederick who was reclining back in the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Right," he nodded, sipping the last of his coffee.

"And then Midas turned you to gold," Emma continued slowly, making sure she had it right. "Then James helped save you, you and Abigail renewed your engagement…and then—"

"Then Regina captured and turned Abigail against us," Snow finished bitterly, limping around the sofa and then propping her cast up on the armrest as she set a tray of crackers on the table. "It's how she's able to control the fate of so many." Snow glanced at Frederick and then back to her daughter. "_Half _of her servants aren't allied by choice. They're controlled by magic. It's how she controls Graham too."

Emma shuddered at the mere mentioning of Regina's hold on the sheriff, taking a sip of her drink. Since returning from Jefferson's mansion and living through the events of the last few days, she found she much preferred late night cocktails to late night cocoa, and Snow was happy to oblige. After Thomas had left the garage rather abruptly for West End, the gathering at Collodi's similarly dispersed. Abigail and James were headed for the 'Nolan' household, though with both of them now awake, the need to continue the charade of marriage extended no further than their front door (Emma was fairly certain she heard talk of playing card games and hangman until dark and then arguing about who would sleep on the couch). Marco was going to meet Archie (so that, in all likelihood, he and the psychologist could talk about the rest of _them_), and Belle wanted to get back to her father who was probably worried sick and in need of more medicine. That left Emma, Snow, and Frederick. Snow had already promised James that she would be home tonight, ready in case Ella called. She agreed with James that Thomas's impatient desire to bring his wife in the loop could backfire as badly as Snow had with Graham. But she also couldn't find it in her heart to criticize the young prince for wanting to try. After all, Ella was so close to being herself already, it was worth the risk. So she told Emma she was headed for home and invited Frederick to join them for dinner.

The three of them were now seated in the small living room where only days beforehand Emma sat with the Zimmer children, scrambling to find any information that might lead her to their father. When Emma paused to think how much had happened since then, it was almost unfathomable. So she decided to _not _think about it anymore and to simply take everything one day at a time.

"Is there any way to stop it?" she asked. "I mean, do we know where she _keeps_…the hearts?"

Snow looked helplessly over to Frederick and shook her head. She'd spent so much of her young life avoiding and escaping her stepmother, she felt like she knew so little about the dark arts Regina wielded.

"There's some sort of vault," Frederick said gravely, setting his mug down on the table. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Some friends of mine were spies in the queen's royal guard. One of their very last communiques described a gold vault with hundreds of small compartments."

"So you…you knew even _then _what Regina had done to Abigail?" Snow gasped.

"I didn't know for certain," Frederick said, "but I had my suspicions. When she came to tell me the wedding was off, that she was going to marry Prince James after all…I could tell something was different."

The room went silent, and Snow dropped her forehead in her palm. "Frederick I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Both Frederick and Emma snapped their heads up, gaping at Snow. "For what your Highness?" said the knight.

"Oh stop," she muttered, not finding nearly as much satisfaction in the old address as she had at Collodi's that afternoon. "I'm not a 'highness' here. _I'm _the reason we're all trapped here in the first place."

"Snow—"

"It's true," she insisted, "One mistake when I was eight years old and the whole kingdom's been paying for it ever since."

Emma and Frederick both exchanged worried glances, sensing there was obviously far more to that story than either of them knew. It occurred to Emma as it had so often today that there was much she needed to learn, so many stories she needed to read and tales she needed told if she had a prayer of going up against the queen. But of one thing she was _certain _without any further explanation. "This is _not _your fault," she said, scooting around the couch to the armrest.

"I agree, your Highness," Frederick said, propping his elbow up on the seatback. "We're only responsible for our _own_ actions. Not the actions of others."

Snow smiled weakly, wishing she felt the same, and was about to thank them when a sharp knock sounded at the door. The three of them jolted up in their seats, staring at the entrance. It was close to 2am, just after closing time at Garcon's. And the sound of a baby wailing in the front hallway confirmed what they were all thinking. It was Ella. Thomas telling her about the curse must not have gone so well. Snow rushed to the door as fast as her casted leg could take her and wrenched it open.

"Mary Margaret, thank God," said a young blonde who looked to be weighed down by about four tons of baby gear as she struggled through the doorway. It was indeed Ella, looking more frantic and panicky than Snow had ever seen her in either world. She held Alexandra in one arm pressed up against her shoulder, while she dragged a car seat and baby bag behind her. "I'm so glad you're still up. Hi Emma," she said hurriedly. "Mary, I'm going out of my mind! Sean is—"

"It's ok, Ashley," Snow said, taking one of the bags off her hands as Frederick and Emma stepped in and helped her get her stuff into the house. "We can explain."

Ashley's head darted up in shock, studying her friend's eyes carefully. "You can? You mean…you know where he is?"

Snow drew back, "Wh-what do you mean?" She glanced at the others and then back. "You _don't_?"

"That's what I was about to tell you," she shrieked, shifting a crying Alexandra to her other shoulder. "Sean's missing."

…

Ella was beside herself and explained that she hadn't even thought about how late it was before packing up Alexandra into the car seat and heading out to Garcon's. She drove all the way to the bar but the place was locked up, dark with not a car in sight. When West End turned into a dead end, she'd driven back to the square and searched everywhere, getting more and more frantic every minute that Sean didn't answer his phone. Eventually, she'd ended up close to Snow's house and pulled in hoping she could get an impromptu sitter for Alex so she could go back out and look again. Five seconds inside Snow's home however nipped that plan in the bud as Frederick and Emma insisted that she come in and calm down. The calming down part hadn't, so far, worked out so well, but at least she was staying inside, pacing in front of the kitchen island as Snow took charge of Alex.

"I'm usually asleep _long_ before this, but he specifically called me tonight and asked me if I would try to wait up for him. He had something important to tell me and he wanted me to be awake!" cried Ashley, wringing her hands out as she checked her cell phone again as she'd been doing once every thirty seconds since she'd arrived.

Emma, Frederick and Snow all kept darting looks at each other, at a complete loss for what to say. They of course, knew _exactly _what Thomas had wanted to tell her. James had asked that they be prepared for Ella to freak out a little upon hearing from her brand new fiancée that they were actually two of the most iconic fairy tale characters ever written. Explanations and reassurances they were ready to give. But Thomas was…missing? Absolutely no trace? Nothing could have prepared them for _that._

"Ashley," Emma made a futile attempt, "I'm sure everything's—"

"It's 2 in the morning!" she cut in. "Where could he possibly—"

The entire room jumped, including Ella, as her phone whirred to life in her hands. Ella was so stunned she nearly dropped it, but her face immediately fell when she didn't recognize the number. Hands shaking, she glanced up at the room, almost hating the looks of support she got from the group, and answered.

"Hello?" she squeaked, having suddenly no voice.

"Miss…Boyd?" came a soft, female voice through the phone. The entire room held its breath.

"Y-yes?"

"Hi, my name is Dawn…Dawn Charles. I'm a nurse at Storybrooke General?"

"Oh my God!" Ashley's hand shot out from her side and gripped the countertop as she stumbled onto the stool next to her. "Sean is he…did he—"

"Sean Herman was admitted here a few hours ago. He's ok – well…he's stable."

Ashley allowed herself a modicum of relief before sheer panic set in again. "Where did he – I mean what…what happened?"

"I need to be honest, Miss Boyd. I...I really shouldn't be calling you…but I was one of the nurses who was there when your daughter was born. I…I remember when Sean came to see you and—"

"What. Happened?" she barked so loud Emma actually jumped back.

There was a pause on the other line that seemed an eternity to Ashley before Dawn finally replied, "I think you need to get down here right away."

…

*****Ok so blah blah blah real life sucks blah blah blah students, tests, exams, finals week – oy! But beyond all that real life crap, I've also been totally and completely obsessed with **_**The Avengers **_**these past few weeks and haven't been able to **_**think **_**about Prince Charming with so much Captain America on the brain! Thankfully, I got a fresh burst of creativity after re-watching the pilot of **_**Once **_**again and I'm back on track. Thanks for being patient, and hope you enjoyed.**

**By the way, what'd you all think of the finale? Are we back in Fairy Tale Land next season? Or are we in Storybrooke still with a world that now has magic?**

**I will try for another update in a little more timely fashion!**

**(Any guesses on Thomas's mysterious rescuer?)*****


	26. Fathers of fathers, Fathers of mothers

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Fathers of fathers, Fathers of mothers**

Ella didn't even have to ask for the rest of the group to spring into action. In minutes, Snow had taken charge of little Alex, and Emma was escorting the frightened waitress to the passenger side of her little yellow bug. Ella had briefly claimed she could drive herself, but none of them would hear of it.

"Do you want me to follow in her car?" Frederick asked as Emma shut the door with Ella tucked inside.

"No," Emma muttered as the two of them walked around the back of the car. "No, head to Garcon's. See if there's anything there that she might've missed. It's dark and she's frantic, so she probably wasn't looking very carefully."

Frederick nodded but looked hesitant as they reached the driver's side door. "You don't want to do that yourself with the sheriff?"

Emma shook her head. "Graham doesn't know about the curse. He'll be looking at everything like a cop. I need you to look—"

"Like a knight," he finished for her, suddenly catching on. "Got it." He nodded swiftly and headed for his car.

Emma was about to yank open her door when she stopped abruptly and turned back to watch him leave. How weird was _that_? This morning Sir Frederick was still Rick Shields, Henry's gym teacher. A man she'd never met. He was _barely _a friend now, but he'd followed her orders without question. Emma Swan. The savior…the _leader_. These were words she'd been ignoring, resisting. But slipping into the role just now was…effortless.

She shook her head, willing herself to focus, and opened the door. "All right," she took a deep breath. She turned to face Ella who was staring blankly ahead at the windshield. "Ashley," she said softly. Slowly, the girl turned. "It's gonna be ok."

But Ella didn't respond. She didn't say a word. She just prayed.

…

"Excuse me," Ashley called to the front desk as soon as she and Emma were through the door. "Excuse me!" She rushed to the counter where a few nurses were clustered. "I'm looking for Sean Herman?"

"Ok, calm down," said a stout, middle-aged woman with wire-rimmed glasses and black hair tied back in a tight bun. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Just tell me where they put Sean Herman," Ashley clenched her fist, thumping it nervously against the counter.

"Ashley—" Emma tried to calm her, but the second they arrived at the hospital, she'd grown frantic again.

"I have to know your name, hun," replied the clerk, "and your relation to the patient –"

"It's ok, Maeve," came a voice behind them.

Both turned as a tall woman emerged from a corridor, dressed in pink and blue nursing scrubs with an overcoat and purse slung over her arm. Her hair was held back loosely with dark blonde ends fringing out from a black hair clip, and a hospital ID tag hung from an orange lanyard around her neck. As she drew closer, Emma recognized the name – Dawn Charles RN. She gave Ella a warm smile and then looked down at Maeve, "they're with me."

Dawn nodded to Emma, placed her hand on Ashley's back and led them back toward the same corridor. They moved swiftly down the hallway, passing a half dozen crash carts and gurneys as they approached the emergency room. Ashley glanced up at their guide and bit her lip, remembering the last time she'd seen Nurse Charles. She had indeed assisted with the delivery and had led Sean to the room the first time he'd visited. "Th-thank you for calling," she managed with a gulp.

Dawn shook her head, "Don't worry about it."

Something in the nurse's tone worried Emma. She seemed to be in an awful hurry, distracted even; she was glancing down every corridor they passed as if checking for someone or something, and Emma was reminded of what she'd overheard the nurse say to Ashley on the phone: _I really shouldn't be calling you_. The remark had slipped Ashley's notice, but it bothered the deputy. What hospital would elect _not _to call a patient's fiancée? Emma looked down at Ashley, but the girl was so entirely focused on and worried about Sean, she clearly hadn't noted Dawn's frenzied behavior. So for now, Emma kept it to herself.

At last they rounded a corner and reached the ER. Being so late (and being Storybrooke) there wasn't much activity in the place. In fact it seemed rather peaceful compared to the pounding hearts of the three women who'd just entered. Dawn led Ashley to an exam room, and Emma followed closely behind.

The lights in the room were dim save for the soft glow of a bedside lamp seated on a small table that bridged the space between the patient's bed and a cushioned chair. An overcoat was slung over the back of the chair and there was a half drunken Styrofoam coffee cup set on top of a magazine under the lamp. These were all details Emma noticed immediately of course, but Ashley had eyes only for the patient…or rather, the heavy dark curtain drawn around the bed shielding him from view. Gently, but with the same sense of urgency Emma had sensed on arrival, Dawn led her forward and grabbed a fist full of fabric to draw the curtain back. Ashley sucked in a breath, suddenly terrified of what she'd see when Sean was revealed. _"I think you need to get down here right away," _the nurse had said on the phone. She'd been too afraid to ask exactly what that had meant. But she braced herself, determined to be brave for both of them as Dawn slid the curtain away. The plastic rungs scraped loudly along the metal rod as Sean's mangled and bandaged form came into view. When he was fully revealed, Ashley nearly doubled over, screeching in horror as her eyes fell on a man she almost didn't recognize.

One whole side of his face was wrapped in gauze as was his right wrist and entire abdomen. His left arm was suspended over the bed in a cast and there were tubes laid across his face feeding air into his nostrils as his chest rose and fell in labored breaths. Tears flooding down her cheeks, Ashley stepped forward, sobbing and hiccupping as she got a closer look at the half of his face still visible. His right eye was completely swollen over to the point where she could barely see his soft lashes peeking out from beneath the inflamed and scabbing flesh. And there was a softball sized bruise along his jawline colored a sickening mixture of red, purple, yellow, black and blue. Remarkably, his right hand lay by his side, untouched and uninjured. Ashley slid her hand underneath his and clasped it ever so gently. "Who…who would do this?" she wept, her voice shaking and uneven. "Who w-would…how could someone…oh…oh God, Sean!"

Listening to the young mother in such agony, Emma's own lip started to tremble and her eyes began to sting. _Who indeed_, she thought angrily, clenching her teeth. She darted a glance over to Dawn, seeing the same mix of sadness and anger in the woman's kind face. The expression startled Emma for it was so intense despite the fact that she'd never seen the nurse before and, as far Emma knew, she wasn't at all connected to Sean or Ashley beyond having been one of the nurses during Ashley's delivery. Emma again noted the coat slung over her arm and bag on her shoulder. The nurse had been heading out when they'd arrived. But she'd stayed. She'd stayed for Ashley, and showed no signs now of taking off.

"Thank you," Emma mumbled softly, moving closer to the nurse as Ashley sank into the chair beside her fiancée.

Again, Dawn shook her head. "Please don't," she replied gravely. "I…I probably just made things worse." She glanced up at Emma and then shot a look back at the door. It appeared, as it had in the hallway, she was still on the lookout for something…or someone.

"Who do you keep looking for?" Emma hissed, trying to speak low enough so that Ashley wouldn't hear despite the small size of the exam room.

Dawn sighed. "Ashley's not technically Sean's next of kin—"

"What?" Ashley sprang back up from the chair, still holding on to Sean's hand.

"I know," the nurse continued, looking sadly over at the younger blonde. "That's what I said when I realized who it was they brought in. But you two technically aren't married, and I guess Sean never thought about changing the info on his insurance so—"

"His _father_," Ashley gritted her teeth. Two words, but her tone implied the rest. And sure enough, just as she figured out why it had taken so long for her to learn anything, three men stalked through the door, led by one very familiar, very resentful voice.

"What is _she _doing here?" bellowed Mitchell Herman as he stalked right up to Nurse Charles, pointing an accusing finger at Ashley though refusing to look at her.

"Dawn," came Dr. Whale's voice close behind him. "What are you—"

"I'm sorry, Joe. But I told you before," Dawn stood her ground, not even acknowledging the older gentleman snarling in her face. "This—" she too pointed at Ashley— "is wrong. These two have a child together. They're engaged to be _married._ She had a right to know."

"We have a duty to respect the wishes of—"

"How _could _you?" Ashley cried, refusing to budge from Sean's side though now glaring at his father. "How could you not tell me about this?"

"How could _I_?" Mitchell countered, finally deigning to look at the woman standing by his son. "It's because of _you _he ended up like this in the first place."

"What?"

"Ok, now hold on—"

"Mr. Herman—"

"All right folks, how about everyone just calm down."

Emma gasped as the third man finally squeezed his way into the room. "Graham!"

The sheriff stopped. "Emma? What are you—"

"I came with Ashley. What are _you_—"

"Excuse me!" yelled Ashley over everyone. "I'd like to know just how the hell you've decided this is _my _fault!" Finally, the girl left the side of her fiancée and stalked right up to Mitchell.

The entire room seemed to freeze, holding collective breaths in suspense as none in attendance had ever seen or heard of Ashley Boyd standing up to Sean's father.

"How? _How?_" Mitchell shouted in a rage, though Emma noted tears welling in his eyes. "Would he have even _been _down in West End if it wasn't for you?"

"He _works _at Garcon's! It's his job—"

"A job he wouldn't have needed if you had just stuck to the original agreement, collected your money and let him get back to his own life!"

"You mean the agreement for me to _sell _my _baby_? _That _agreement?"

"Both of you please," cut in Dr. Whale, holding his hands up and pleading. "None of this is helping Sean."

"You're right doctor," said Mitchell, his eyes darting around the room, his face red and flushed. When phrased that way, the deal he'd cut with Mr. Gold had indeed sounded atrocious. In fact, he'd been ashamed of it for some time now. He'd been ashamed of everything actually – his rejection of Ashley, casting out Sean…everything. But reason and humility were hardly characteristic of the seasoned businessman in the face of such confrontation, particularly when his most embarrassing mistakes were being thrown in his face by a 19-year-old waitress. "Sheriff, I want this woman removed from the room. She is _not _family and has no business being here." The words tasted vile in his mouth, but he would not recant them.

"Not family? Not _family_?" Ashley's eyes were filled with rage and tears. Emma could do nothing but look helplessly between Dawn and Graham as the girl reproached her unfortunate relation. "How can you say that! He's the father of my child," she grabbed Mitchell by the arm and yanked him around. "Your _grand_daughter!"

"Sheriff, if you please—"

"And I'm _certainly _more family to him than _you've_ been lately. Did it ever occur to you that maybe if _you _hadn't thrown him out of your life, he wouldn't have _had _to get a job in West End to support us?"

"To support _you_, you mean," argued Mitchell, tugging his arm from her grasp. "But I believe you've squeezed just about all you're gonna get out of him now!" he gestured to his unconscious son, appalled by the words coming out of his mouth, but he couldn't seem to stop them from flowing. Not with Sean looking like that…not with the knowledge that his boy had sustained three broken ribs, a fractured arm, a collapsed lung and so much swelling of the lower spine, he might never regain feeling in his legs. "Now you listen to me. I want you out of my son's life for good, you hear me? You stay away from him. Stay away from us!"

"Mr. Herman," Graham tried again from the doorway. "Please be reasonable—"

But his voice might as well have been miles away. Ashley clenched her fists together and forced Mitchell around again, standing face-to-face right beside the bed. "I will _not _stay away from him. He's Alexandra's father and—"

"He's _my _son—"

"He's my _husband_! He's _my_ Thomas!"

The room went still at her outburst, save for a few gasps and dropped jaws. Mitchell gaped at her, staring as if she were crazy. Ashley's demeanor faltered too, and she staggered back from her would-be father-in-law, shaking her head. "I-I mean…fiancée," she stammered, "Sean…is my f-fiancée."

She shot Emma a look full of terror and confusion, but Emma could only gulp. She of course, was the only one in the room who understood what had just happened. But she couldn't very well reveal that with Mitchell, Graham and Dr. Whale in the room. Or Nurse Charles for that matter, who seemed to have nothing but pity and understanding for Ashley. But even Dawn now looked at the girl in surprise, unsure of what to make of her strange remark.

Emma held her breath, staring at Ashley…at Ella?…unnerved by the dead silence of the room. She'd said Sean was her husband. Called him Thomas. Was this, in fact, Ashley waking up? Emma had never seen anyone wake up before. James had _told_ her of how he'd woken Snow, how Kathryn had emerged from therapy as Abigail. But she hadn't seen it happen yet. Was this it? Was she about to become…Cinderella?

But as the seconds torturously passed, it became clear that Ashley was just as confused as the rest of them and seemed quite the boat without an anchor amidst the sea of eyes all glaring at her. "I-I don't…I'm not sure…why…" she mumbled at no one in particular as she glanced back at Sean.

"Sheriff?" Mitchell said, his voice stone-cold. "Remove this woman at once. She's obviously…unstable."

Graham looked nervously from Mitchell to Emma with a helpless shrug. "Mr. Herman," he made one last attempt. "Won't you at least—"

"Sheriff?" he snarled back.

"It's ok Graham," said Emma suddenly, walking over to Ashley and placing both hands on her shoulders. Thankfully, the girl was in shock, and did not object to the deputy leading her out of the room. Emma felt awful about pulling her away from Thomas, about giving his selfish prick of a father the satisfaction of having won, but she also knew that it would do no good for the people in this room to further speculate on what exactly Ashley had meant in calling Sean her husband. In calling him 'Thomas'. The girl needed answers…and she wouldn't get them here.

On the way out, she nodded to Graham as if to say _we'll talk later_, and then without delay, she ushered Ashley back down the corridor and out of sight.

…

Ignoring the painful implications of having a house completely unprepared and unsuited for a newborn, Snow set about converting her bed into a makeshift crib. Alex was sitting up in her car seat, clearly sick of the thing by now and squirming impatiently to be free. She had wailed loudly for her mother after Ella left, but Snow managed to calm her down, bouncing her playfully on her shoulder, walking her around the first floor as fast as her injured ankle could carry her, and singing lullabies that eventually lulled her to sleep. But as soon as she'd placed the child back in the seat, the girl began to fuss. Snow couldn't blame her, she supposed. Her mother had driven all over town looking for Thomas in the dead of night. If Snow had been strapped into that thing for hours, she'd be fussy too. So she set the carrier on the floor by her bed in the small alcove at the far end of the room. Then she gathered all the thick pillows she could find, creating a small, but secure little square in the middle of the mattress. She lifted Alexandra from her car seat and placed her in the center of the makeshift crib, stepped back and folded her hands together, holding her breath. Alexandra balled up her hands into tiny fists as she pushed herself up on all fours, cocking her little head from one side to the other, inspecting her surroundings. The bed was unfamiliar, but it was soft…and it wasn't a car seat. Within minutes, she plopped herself down and went to sleep.

Now, as Snow leaned against a support beam, watching the child sleep, she couldn't help but let her thoughts wander back to the panic-stricken look on Ella's face. What a complete contrast to the excited young woman she'd seen the other day at the market, the joy and bliss of a young woman about to be married. The change in her dear friend was enough to make anyone cry, and indeed her eyes grew moist as Ella's baby girl continued to sleep. But when tears threatened to spill, a soft knock at the door startled her out of it, and Snow spun on her heel, hobbling quietly across the room.

To be safe, she checked through the peep hole before answering, but she already knew who it was. She let out a heavy sigh as she pulled open the door and James stepped inside. "You didn't have to come," she said with a tired smile.

The look he gave her bordered on sardonic as he closed the door softly behind him. "Are you kidding? I left as soon as I got your message."

She nodded, slipping immediately into his arms and breathing in his comforting scent. For a few minutes, she just stood there, leaning against him for support. "Did you tell Abigail?"

James pulled back and brushed a tendril of hair off her face. "Nah, she was sound asleep by about 10:00. I left Lucy there with a note though." Snow nodded and then pulled away from him, turning back toward the alcove and moving slowly to the couch. "You ok?" asked James, slipping his coat from his shoulders and throwing it on the hook by the door.

"No," Snow said quietly. "No I'm not."

James didn't like the sound of _that _one bit. But he waited patiently, following her to the couch but allowing her space.

"I don't think I can take much more of this," she said, still not facing him. "Every time something good happens, it's followed by something bad."

"Snow—"

"No, think about it," she turned then, grabbing on to the couch for support. James glanced down at the clumsy brace around the ankle she still favored. Were it anyone else, he would have insisted she sit down, but he knew better with Snow. "We find the dwarfs' cottage, and a few hours later I'm kidnapped by the Mad Hatter," she said bitterly. "You help Emma track down Michael Tillman? He disappears…_along _with his kids."

"We still don't know—"

"Belle, Jiminy and Geppetto join the fight? Abigail and Frederick wake up? And then Thomas is beaten within an inch of his life!"

"Snow—" he tried again, this time reaching for her. But she shook her head.

"_Every _time, James. Something bad…and it's all because of me."

James gaped at her, snatching his hand back. "What?"

"It is, all of it."

"That's absurd—"

"It's the truth."

"No it's—"

"I'm not saying it's my _fault_," she granted him with an impatient sigh, determined that he understand where she was coming from. "This isn't about 'fault'. There's nothing I could've done and no way I could've known what her mother would do, I know that." She'd memorized the arguments. She'd heard them before time and again from those determined to absolve her of responsibility…despite how much she deserved it. "But it doesn't change anything. It doesn't change what happened. If I hadn't told Cora about Daniel—"

"If you hadn't told Cora about Regina's lover, the witch would have found out some other way. You _know _that." Snow sighed, hugging herself around the middle. She turned to lean against the back of the couch as he continued. "The level of power that woman wielded?" he said, "Do you _really_ think she needed you? Do you really think it all came to down to whether or not she could manipulate an eight-year-old girl?" He reached for her and turned her gently to face him. "She could've conjured herself anywhere. Regina was _destined _for darkness just like her mother. You? Only ever acted out of goodness." He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek, pausing to catch a stray tear as it trickled from the corner of her eye. "Something that evil…could never have been born from something so good."

"You can't know that for certain," she whispered.

But he shook his head, cupping her face in his hands. "I do know that. I know you. She _murdered_ your father Snow, and you still found it in your heart to forgive her – to write her a letter begging that your people be spared the suffering incurred by her wrath."

"James—"

"While _she _turned an innocent child into a scapegoat because she was too much of a coward to confront her own mother."

She sighed and looked down. It would be so easy to believe him. To absolve herself once and for all of the guilt she carried with her, the burden of knowing it was Regina's grudge against _her _that had set this entire world into motion.

"Come on Snow, we've _had _this argument before. Back when this whole thing started. When she first threatened us with the curse,I _told _you. True evil only comes to those with darkness already in their hearts. And for as long as I've known you, your heart has only ever been pure." He held her gaze, thankful she seemed to be finally listening as he added with a playful chuckle, "Well…all except that one time you shot me with an arrow." Her head shot up and she cocked an eyebrow, but he saw a glint of humor return to her gaze, and he smiled. "But I let you off the hook for that years ago," he amended, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

Snow shook her head and rolled her eyes, but in the end she offered a weak laugh. "I love you," she whispered. James parted his arms and she slipped easily into them, melting into his embrace. "So much," she added, running her fingers through his hair as she rested her head on his shoulder. Yes, she thought…it would be so easy to believe him.

"I love _you_," he whispered back, kissing the top of her head as he smoothed his palms up and down her back. In silence they held each other, each aware of the comfort and peace inspired by the other's embrace. Snow might have been content to stay there forever, but a thought suddenly occurred, and she smiled as she drew back. "You should've seen her tonight," she said. He gave her a quizzical look. "Emma."

He broke into a grin. "Oh yeah?"

"Sprang right into action – got Ella in the car, sent Frederick down to the crime scene to look for signs of magic," she paused and cupped her hand over his cheek. "She's just like you."

James slipped his hands down around her waist and lifted her up to him. "Funny…I was about to say the same thing," he rasped as he bent his head to hers and kissed her softly on the lips.

In an instant, Snow was transported back to their private rendezvous in the caverns –the last time the two of them were alone together – and her passion reignited at his touch. Somewhere between Jefferson's mansion and Belle's memory crisis, those stolen hours at the cottage had started to feel like a dream. But not anymore.

She ran her fingers through his hair and sealed her mouth over his, deepening the rather chaste kiss he'd begun with that fiery enthusiasm he so loved about her. James responded in kind, lifting her as if she weighed nothing so that she was perched on the back of the couch. He whispered her name in the breaths between kisses, tightening his grip around her waist with one arm as his other hand drifted lower, skimming lightly down her forearm and then smoothing over her thighs. He paused at the bend of her knee and gently tugged up on her leg, urging her to wrap it around his own as he pulled her even closer. She arched into him, shivering with want, and she just might have allowed herself to be completely carried away…except for the sudden and sobering sounds of Ella's baby girl stirring from the alcove in the corner.

Snow froze, having almost forgotten she was there, and the two of them turned to see little Alexandra peeking her head out above her wall of pillows, coughing and gurgling and looking for some attention. Snow rushed over to the bed at once, swiping a cloth slung over the back of the couch as she went. Expertly, she laid the cloth on her shoulder and then swept the child up in her arms, positioning Alex upright so she could cough up a bit of spittle. Then Snow cooed and soothed the child gently, keeping her from fussing again, murmuring sweet incoherent nonsense as she bounced her up and down on her shoulder. "Isn't she beautiful?" she asked James off-handedly though she continued to focus on the baby.

James, still getting ahold of himself after the abrupt end of their embrace, rubbed the back of his neck and took a few more steps closer to the bedroom. But he froze in his tracks as soon as Snow lifted the child into her arms. He hadn't at all expected to be so moved by the sight of his wife attending a newborn, though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He swallowed hard, grabbing on to the back of the couch for support as she smoothed her hand over Alexandra's tiny head and rocked her back and forth. "Beautiful," James said thickly. And Snow lifted her gaze at his tone.

Their eyes locked, a wordless exchange of emotions borne, regrets shared. In the quiet stillness of the room, punctuated only by the soft mewling of a child that belonged to neither of them, James and Snow recognized that _this _was how it should have been. _This _is what they should have had. A home filled with love. A child stirring in the corner as they talked about their day. Slowly, Snow made her way back to him, Alexandra snuggled in against her shoulder. "Have you…met her yet?" she asked, continuing to focus on the baby rather than what she knew they both were thinking.

He shook his head, taking a step back as she approached. "No I've…I've uh…only seen…pictures."

Snow glanced down at the snoozing girl and then shifted her towards him. "Here," she said.

But James didn't budge. "No…I…I can't," he gulped. He'd gone absolutely rigid with terror.

"It's ok, James," she whispered, but not backing off.

"Snow…please…last time I…the last time I held a—"

"Shh," she soothed, reaching for his hand. "There are no guards here. No swords, no wardrobes…just me."

Somewhere, deep down, he knew he was being ridiculous. He'd spent the last few days facing some pretty tough challenges: striking bargains with 'Stiltskin, rescuing his wife from a lunatic, not to mention the monumental task of convincing Emma to open up her mind…how could he possibly be afraid of this tiny little princess before him? Snow squeezed his hand and he looked down, feeling her strength in her grasp, and finally…he gave in. Slowly, he bent down to her level, scooping the child up in his arms with the upmost care. Immediately the little girl curled up against him, cuddling into his chest as he held her. He stared in wonder as Alex drifted right off to sleep, feeling safe and content in the big man's arms. His earlier anxiety vanished as he watched this perfect little angel stretch and yawn and then settle back against his chest. "Gods, she looks just like Ella," he murmured. When Snow didn't answer, he glanced up. She was staring at him now just as he had been a few moments ago, looking with such longing it made his heart ache.

"James?" she said softly. He held her gaze, waiting patiently for her to continue. "Do you think that…I mean when this is all over, if we…you know, make it through," she fumbled a bit through her words, though she knew she needn't be so anxious. After all, he was thinking the same thing. "Do you think that Emma would mind…I mean do you think she'd be offended if…if someday we wanted to…"

James cradled Alex securely in one arm so he could reach out and stroke his wife's cheek with the back of his hand. "To try again?" he said.

She nodded, covering his hand with her own.

He smiled. "I think she'd cheer."

As if on cue, the front door knob jiggled and the door swung open. Snow and James whirled around just in time to see Ella walking towards them with Emma not far behind. Without a word – almost robotically – the girl took Alexandra from James and walked passed them both, moving to stand by the far window of the alcove and stare out the window.

At a complete loss for what to say or do, the pair looked at each other and then glanced back at Emma who had followed Ella inside and closed the door behind them. "Hey," she said softly to her parents as they moved closer to the door, voices hushed and cautious.

"That was…fast," Snow said nervously, darting gazes between her daughter and friend.

"Yeah, were you able to see him?" asked James.

Emma sighed, lifting her purse up over her shoulder and slinging it on the hook. "Yeah we saw him. He looks…well, it's pretty bad."

James gripped the door frame, struggling to contain his worry. "How bad?"

Emma glanced at Ashley who remained at the far window. "I…barely recognized him. He's wrapped almost head to toe in gauze. Looks like he's got at least a broken arm. And he's…unconscious."

Snow gulped. "Unconscious, like…in a coma?"

"No, I don't think coma. Just…not awake yet."

James too glanced over at Ella who seemed not to have moved since they arrived. "So what's…wrong? I mean, why isn't she there with him?"

Emma shook her head and looked down. "Sean's father was there. I mean," she looked up, questioning, "he's his father _here_, I don't know who…you know—"

"He's Thomas's father too," he whispered. "His real name's Christopher. What happened?"

Emma shuddered at the memory, looking over at the poor girl still standing in the corner. "They…had a fight. Pretty vicious one too. He…he_ blamed _her for Sean's attack. Said he wouldn't have even been in West End if it weren't for her."

"Oh Gods," Snow covered her mouth with her hand.

"That's ludicrous," James spat.

"Um…she agreed," Emma went on, nodding toward Ashley. "She got…_really _angry about that. Started yelling at him—"

"So, what's wrong with her now?" Snow asked.

Emma took a deep breath, looking back and forth between the two of them before responding. "She…called him Thomas."

"What?" cried her parents in unison.

Emma shushed them before continuing. "In the heat of the argument, she said 'he's _my _husband, he's my _Thomas._'…and the whole room just…froze."

James's gaze darted over to his wife and then back to Ella across the room. "So…she's…I mean, is she…awake now?"

"That's the thing, I don't think so. In fact she seemed just as surprised as everyone else. And then that creep said something about her being 'unstable' and we left."

"Oh, poor Ella," Snow whispered, regarding her sadly.

"I didn't know what else to do," Emma shrugged helplessly. "She's been like _that _ever since. Didn't say a word to me on the way home. Just kept saying over and over 'what's happening to me, what's happening to me, what's happening to me.'"

Snow looked up at James, "Do you think we should…tell her?"

James shook his head, "I don't know. I mean, Thomas wanted to tell her tonight but without _him _actually here, that might make things worse."

"How could it get any worse?" Emma countered. "I mean, she's remembering right? She wouldn't have said it otherwise."

"Yes, but the curse affects everyone differently," James explained. "We think Ella's happy ending has as much to do with his father as it does Thomas himself. At this point, it's almost like she's lost both of them at the moment," he added, glancing up at her once more. "I don't think telling her _now _would go very well."

While the group stayed huddled close to the door, Ashley herself was entranced in her own little world. She'd been aware on the ride home of the deputy trying to talk to her, but she just couldn't open her mouth to reply. What was happening to her? Why did everything around her suddenly feel so… wrong? She'd had arguments with Mitchell Herman before of course, but never quite so volatile…and none had ever ended like _that_. Sean needed her; they needed _him_. But she'd allowed herself to be bullied out of that exam room just as she'd always been bullied by her stepsisters. It was frustrating…infuriating…and yet, she couldn't shake herself out of this stupor. _He's my Thomas! _the words played over and over in her mind. What did she _mean _by that? Who was Thomas? It felt like fragments of a dream she couldn't remember, shards of memory that were lost to her now. _She's obviously…unstable. _The words should have offended her, but in truth…she feared they might be true. Was she crazy? She didn't think so…she certainly _hoped _not…but in that split second at the hospital, she'd felt like a completely different person.

Alexandra seemed to sense, much as she had at Granny's a few days back, that her mother was in distress, for she soon started to whine and moan. Ashley looked down and quietly soothed her fussing, taking comfort once again in having her daughter close. The child was like a balm, dulling even the sharpest pains of her heart. In holding Alex, she was finally able to breathe again. She glanced back at Emma, Mary Margaret and – David Nolan? – whom she noticed for the first time. What was he doing here? But she shook her head. It didn't matter. She needed to get Alex home. She needed to lie in her own bed so that maybe tomorrow morning, she might wake up and find this awful night had indeed been some horrible dream.

"Emma," she cleared her throat as she hitched Alex up on one shoulder and bent to retrieve the car seat on the floor by the bed. "Thank you for your help tonight," she said. "And for the ride to the hospital and everything. And thank _you,_" she turned to Mary, "for watching her."

"Oh Ashley, it was no problem," Snow replied instantly, alarmed by Ella's abrupt, almost clipped tones. She was scurrying about the house, retrieving all of Alex's things. "Are you sure you…I mean, you are more than welcome to just stay. It's almost 3."

"No I…I'm fine thank you," she stammered, though the offer was tempting. "But I need to get her home. I…I need to go home."

Within minutes, Snow, James and Emma had helped pack Ashley and her daughter into her car, all the while asking her, in turns begging her to just stay. But she seemed desperate to get away from everything. To be alone. And this only seemed to confirm what James had feared. She wasn't ready for answers. She didn't want them. She wasn't even close.

"I'm gonna follow her home," Snow said as they watched Ella pull out of the driveway and start down the road.

"What?" James asked.

"Just to make sure she gets home ok."

Her husband looked down at the cast on her ankle. "Umm…are you…sure?"

"It's the _left _ankle James. I can still drive," she replied, and her tone brooked no opposition. Emma was about to object and insist that she go instead, but James shook his head, waving her off. And soon, the two of them were watching Snow drive away as well.

Left alone, father and daughter returned to the house and Ella slumped onto the kitchen stool. James came up behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said softly. "You ok?" She nodded slowly but was staring blankly ahead of her. James sighed as he rounded the island, grabbed a glass from the drying rack and poured her some water. "You should get some rest," he said, handing her the glass. "It's been a long night."

She nodded again, taking a small sip, but she didn't budge. "We were _just _talking to him today," she said, barely above a whisper.

James's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Thomas."

He glanced down again. "Ah."

"I mean…it's like…we were _just _there at Collodi's. Talking about plans and curses and bad guys and…and now he's…" she shook her head, trying to shake the image of a man covered in bandages. "He's Cinderella's _prince_," she looked up, catching her father's gaze. "How are they supposed to have their happy ending now?"

"Hey," James said, reaching across the island and patting her hand. "There's something you need to understand about Thomas, ok? That man _never _gives up."

Emma sighed. "You didn't see him. He's—"

"Doesn't matter, listen," he grinned, squeezing her wrist. "We're talking about a guy who tried a glass slipper on _every_ girl in his kingdom until he found the right one." Emma let out an inaudible snort, unable to keep from rolling her eyes. After all, this was hardly the same thing. But James continued. "And then he was cast into Limbo by Rumpelstiltskin, and he _still_ managed to find his way back to her." At this, Emma looked up. She'd certainly never heard _that _version before. "He's strong, Emma. Stronger than any prognosis a doctor might make. He'll fight back." James paused, sliding his hand away from her as he straightened up. "Besides…he's got a little girl now who needs him. Believe me…that's all the motivation he needs."

Emma swallowed hard for it was impossible to miss the meaning in his words. He allowed her the space though to process it. It's one of things she liked – she loved about him. He'd given her so much space, so much time to deal with everything she'd learned about them, about herself…about the world in the last few days.

James cleared his throat, intending to quietly bow out and let her rest. He turned to head for the door, but Emma called him back.

"James?" she said timidly.

He stopped right at the edge of the island and turned. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

The prince reeled back, his eyebrows darting down. "Sorry? What for?"

Emma sighed, rubbing her hands together as if suddenly cold. "For…everything I ever assumed was true about my father."

James was so shocked by the remark, he almost choked. "Oh Emma—"

"No, please," she put her hand out to stop him. "Let me say it," she insisted. James's hand fell back to his side despite how sorely he wanted to reach for her. "You see I've been…going over and over the last week or so in my head. All the times you…tried to show me. All the hints you dropped."

"Emma, don't—" he was shaking his head.

"You were right though," she pressed on. "Back at the castle? I…didn't _want _to see it. I wasn't ready for the truth."

"How could you be?" he offered supportively. "It's not exactly your typical life story."

"That's just it though," she said, rising from the stool and shoving her hands in her pockets. "I never _had _a story." He gave her a strange look, now curious, and nodded for her to continue. "Growin' up in foster care, everyone has a story: crack-head mom, dead-beat dad, tragic accident. But all I ever knew about me was I was found on the side of a road and never claimed…so I…made up the rest." She shook her head and sighed again. "Most kids are in foster care cuz they've only got one parent to begin with, and that parent…just can't cut it." She glanced up at James who by now had taken a few steps forward. "So I decided that my mom left me there because…my dad must've walked out on her."

James's heart dropped right into his stomach as he watched his daughter's face twist with guilt. He didn't trust himself to speak. There was no reason she needed to feel bad about assumptions this world forced her to make, but at the same time, she seemed determined to clear her conscience.

"After a while I just…started to believe it, so…when Henry came along, and then Snow…and then you—"

"It was all that much harder for you to believe," he finished for her. She nodded, staring at her feet, and James couldn't take it any longer. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and wishing there was some way he could absorb all her pain. "Emma, you've got nothing to be sorry about, ok?" he said, his voice shaking. He pulled back and held her by the shoulders, leveling her gaze with his. "Nothing at all, you hear me? Not with me and not with Snow."

She sighed, though this time with a bit of relief, and nodded before sinking back against his chest again and squeezing tight. It felt good to hug him. To hug her father. And she flashed back on that awkward moment at Collodi's. "I'm sorry I…didn't hug you today," she said with a light sniffle.

She felt his shoulders shake as he chuckled. "It's ok, Emma."

"I'm not…real good yet with all the…fluffy, mushy…group hug stuff."

He grinned, pulling back once more to look at her. "You're my daughter…that's good enough for me."

…

*****Boy you folks are sharp! At least a few people have already guessed Thomas's mystery rescuer, and LOTS of people already deduced the identity of our new friend Nurse Charles. (By the way, anyone ever seen **_**Tootsie**_**? I JUST realized that Jessica Lange's character in **_**Tootsie**_** was also Nurse Charles, haha.)**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this one. I know King Christopher came off a bit harsh, but you know…some people don't handle confrontation very well. Redemption is around the corner, believe me. It'll be a nice Christmas for Ashley this year.**

**Happy Memorial Day to you all (if you're American) and if not, Happy Sunday!*****


	27. Guilt

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Guilt**

_ "I don't understand," said Christopher as he placed his hand on the stone railing of the mezzanine. He looked from his son to his daughter-in-law and back again. "The winter solstice was your mother's favorite, Thomas. We have never missed a festival since she passed."_

_ Thomas sighed, squeezing Ella's hand even tighter than he already held it. "I know, Pop—"_

_ "And this would have been Ella's first," Christopher continued, reaching for Ella's other hand and patting it between his palms. His fatherly smile nearly broke her heart._

_ "Pop," Thomas drew his father's attention away from his crestfallen bride. He didn't want her feeling even more guilty than she already did. "I promise, we will try to make it back before the end of the festival, but something has—" he paused and glanced at Ella— "come up. James has vital information for us and we must leave tonight."_

_ Christopher sighed, distressed by the tension in his son's voice but even more so by the Ella's burdened eyes. A young woman in her condition should be at home, enjoying the comforts and service of her ladies in waiting as the birth of a new generation at Seven Gales drew near. Instead, they were headed for New Gaia on urgent business that Thomas refused to reveal. "I wish you would tell me what's happened, Son," he said with a sigh. "There must be something I can do to help."_

_ "There's not—"_

_ "How can you know that for sure if you won't tell me—"_

_ "Father, we've been through this before—"_

_ "Thomas," Ella said suddenly, wrenching her hand from her husband's grasp and shaking her head. Tears welled in her eyes as she smoothed her hand over her rounded belly. Before their first trip to New Gaia, right after Ella had gotten pregnant, they convinced her new father-in-law that they were taking an extended holiday to escape the sweltering summer heat. Now they could make no more excuses. She was eight months along, and they were leaving on the eve of the king's favorite winter jubilee. And really, given what they were up against, she didn't want Thomas's father to be in the dark any longer. "He deserves to know," she said quietly._

_ "Ella," Christopher started toward her, but she stepped away._

_ "Your Majesty, I've…I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake," she sobbed, unable to look up._

_ "Ella, don't," Thomas tried, but his wife would not yield. _

_ "I'm sure that's not true, my dear," Christopher replied, still moving toward her. "And please, as I have told you before, call me Christopher."_

_ Again, Ella shook her head. "I don't have that right, your Majesty. Because of me, both your son and grandchild are in terrible danger."_

_ Thomas shook his head. "It wasn't your—"_

_ "Stop making excuses for me," she cut him off, not quite snapping, but with a firmer voice than she'd begun her confession. Both men fell silent as she turned solemnly to the elder. "I made a deal, your Majesty. With Rumpelstiltskin."_

_ Christopher's jaw dropped. "Rumpelstilt—"_

_ "You didn't know it was him at the time," Thomas said at once, trying again to ease her guilt._

_ But Ella would not allow him to defend her any longer. "It doesn't matter. I saw what he did," she said quietly. "He murdered a fairy right in front of me and I chose to ignore it because I was so…I was so desperate to get out of there I would have done anything."_

_She didn't dare look up then. She couldn't bear to meet the gaze of a man who had welcomed her so lovingly to his family. Who made her feel like a daughter again. _

"_What did you bargain for?" was Christopher's solemn response, his voice a painful combination of shock and disappointment._

_Thomas moved behind her now, trying to comfort her as he drew his palm in soft, lazy circles on her back. But the gesture did little to lessen her shame. "A day off?" she shrugged helplessly. "An escape from…from that life." Finally, she forced herself to look up and explained. "A ball gown and a pair of slippers, your Majesty…so I could pretend for at least one night that I was just like every other girl in the kingdom who'd been invited to a ball."_

_Christopher's expression became unreadable as she spoke, and though she knew the worst was yet to come, a small part of her was relieved to finally be revealing the truth. "I…didn't figure on…falling in love," she glanced back at Thomas who gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I didn't know I would become part of this wonderful family," she looked back to the king, "and in doing so…put everyone at risk." She sighed and wrapped her arms around her middle. "I just…I just needed one night. One night to look back on…so that life with my step mother might be a little more…bearable."_

_ "You saw how cruel they were towards her, Pop," said Thomas, lacing his fingers with hers. "You know what she lived through." _

_ "Of course I do," Christopher waved him off. The horrendous treatment of Ella by her step family had indeed disgusted them all when it was brought to light. Such a cruel life for such a sweet girl. "But still…Ella," he said sternly, "Rumpelstiltskin _always _collects. To my knowledge he has never forgiven a debt nor voided a contract."_

_ "She knows that—"_

"_And those who have dared to challenge him?" he looked up at his son, "Those who have attempted to change or revoke the conditions of their contracts end up suffering fates far worse than the terms of their original bargains." His warning hung with an air of dread felt keenly by his daughter-in-law. "Ella," he said quietly, tipping her chin up to meet his eyes, and speaking with as much kindness and empathy as he could manage through his distress. "What did you promise him?"_

_ Ella looked between father and son in agony as the horrendous truth hit her now with the same intense shock and horror as it had the night of her wedding. "Our baby," she said in a hoarse whisper. And she knew, even as the words left her mouth, she knew she would never be able to sponge from her memory the look of absolute misery and despair in his eyes as the all the color drained from her father-in-law's face—_

"Good morning," Emma heard behind her, and she jerked a little in her seat as her mother wrenched her from Christopher's kingdom of Seven Gales and back to their kitchen.

She turned slightly in her stool and nodded. "Hey."

"What are you doing?" Snow asked as she approached the kitchen, running a comb through her short black hair. But the answer was obvious as soon as she got a look over her daughter's shoulder.

"Research," Emma replied as she gently tapped the pages of Henry's storybook. "I think I know why Mitchell Herman is so angry with Ashley." She angled it to the side, affording Snow a closer look. Snow leaned into the countertop and inspected the framed illustration above the text that Emma had just finished reading: an oil painting of Ella, Thomas and King Christopher posed beside one of their palace mezzanines. Ella appeared to be shivering while Thomas stood close behind her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. Snow quickly scanned down the text of the story: _"What did you promise him?"… "Our baby."_

"Oh my," Snow whispered, brushing her hand gingerly across the page. "I remember this."

Emma looked over. "What, you've read it?"

"No. Ella told me about it."

Emma didn't know why it should startle her, but there was still something so surreal about knowing that the events in these pages weren't only stories but memories.

"Probably only a day or two after this actually," Snow was saying, still inspecting the page. "When they arrived at New Gaia, she mentioned that they finally told King Christopher about the deal."

Emma glanced back down at the picture of the king – the spitting image of Mitchell Herman – and sighed. "Clearly he wasn't too…happy about it."

Snow frowned as she withdrew and walked over to the counter, retrieving a mug and her cocoa mix from the shelf. "No…he wasn't. That was probably the saddest part."

"Whadyou mean?" Emma asked, flipping a few pages ahead to a section of the story she'd read earlier.

"Ella's life was a lot worse than most versions of this world typically credit her," Snow explained as she poured water from the teakettle into her mug and then turned back to her daughter. "Her step mother not only robbed her of the fortune she should have had following her father's death and turned her into a maid, but she was more often treated like a slave…sometimes beaten like one too."

Emma clenched her fists and teeth. "Why didn't she just _leave_?" she scoffed, slightly annoyed at the girl, though she knew it was unfair to be so.

"She tried once," Snow took a sip, remembering. "That was when I met her."

"You knew her before she married Thomas?"

She nodded. "Long before. I was…on the run too."

Emma's brow furrowed in confusion, glancing down at the book and rifling through a few more pages. "I didn't see anything like _that _in here."

Snow shrugged, "There are a lot of things _not _in that book." She glanced down again, her voice soft and faraway. "Anyway, after the night of Thomas's ball, everything changed for her. Those two were a match made in heaven, but she didn't just gain a husband." She paused and took another sip, the chocolate tasting bittersweet as she thought back to the fate of her dear friend. "She gained a family. Christopher loved her like a daughter. Treated her the way a father _should_ treat his children." She sighed and shook her head, remembering the letter she received from Ella a few days after she'd returned to her own kingdom. "After Thomas…disappeared, their relationship was never the same."

Emma shifted uncomfortably in her stool while her mother sorted through the wave memories she was revisiting now. She wanted her to continue, to fill in more of the blanks. In fact, Emma was fairly certain that Snow could tell her stories for days that never ceased to be interesting. There was so much to learn, so much she wanted to know…too much in fact. And her brain already felt like it was on overload. So she decided to stick to the case at hand, sorting it all out one day at a time. "Speaking of Thomas disappearing," she cleared her throat, flipping back to the page she'd originally sought, "what exactly happened to him? The story stops here."

Snow glanced sideways at the illustration now before her. Rumpelstiltskin was locked inside Grumpy's prison wagon while Ella stood screaming at him from beyond the bars. _"Where is he? Where's my Thomas?" _the princess was saying according to the text. Snow closed her eyes and heaved another sigh. She remembered that day quite well. She wasn't there of course, but she'd heard all about it from James that night. "We tried to trick Rumpelstiltskin into making a new deal. The Blue Fairy blessed a quill that would bind his powers if he used it."

Emma glanced down at the image of the imprisoned Mr. Gold. "Well it worked, didn't it?"

"Yes but not like we'd hoped. Not long after he was locked up, Thomas was cast into limbo."

The deputy straightened up, remembering her talk with her father. "Limbo," she said, "James said something about that last night. What _is_ limbo?"

A half-frown tugged at Snow's mouth and she once again became thoughtful. The best person to answer these questions was actually Grumpy, who knew more about magic than anyone else she'd ever met, but she knew that wasn't an option right now. "Limbo is," she glanced up, trying to settle on the right words. "It's a sort of dimension between worlds. Hidden within the very fabric of magic."

"A dimension," Emma repeated, trying to wrap her brain around the concept. "Like Wonderland?"

"No, it's not that concrete." She sighed and then tried again. "Wonderland is just one of many worlds. Like this one. It can be traveled to using a portal or a spell or…well, any number of things. But limbo…well, it's…it's like a dream state. A plane of existence where you don't eat or sleep or…well, anything. You just…wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For your debt to be paid."

Emma gulped hard. She had no _clue _what the hell that meant. But by mother's tone, it didn't sound good.

"It doesn't happen often," Snow came around the island and settled on the stool beside her daughter, "but when incredibly powerful forces of good and evil collide, it tears a rift in the fabric of magic. So when Ella tried to go back on her deal, when she challenged 'Stiltskin's powers with a quill blessed by the Blue Fairy—"

"Good and Evil collided," Emma finished for her. "And Thomas paid the price?" Snow nodded while she glanced back down at the page. "So…what happens once you're…in limbo?"

Another sad sigh. "No one's really sure. People who come back either can't remember or … just don't talk about it."

Emma was silent for a few moments, trying to take it all in. She too looked back at the drawing of a pained and distressed Ashley, noting how very similar her expression was to the one she wore last night in the hospital. "Why wasn't it her?"

"Hmm?"

"Ella," Emma replied, looking back at her mother. "Why wasn't it Ella who was drawn into limbo?" Snow looked down. "I mean, it was _her _bargain she was trying to reverse. She's the one who handed Gold the quill."

A sad smile broke across her face as her daughter asked aloud the very question that had puzzled her and her husband for weeks. "We wondered that ourselves at first," she said. "We didn't tell Ella of course, but none of us could figure out why it wasn't Ella who paid the price."

After a time, Emma leaned forward, nudging Snow on the elbow. "Well?"

Snow looked up. "It was Grumpy who figured it out. He remembered something Thomas said in the mines when they first told her the plan. Ella was very worried about using the quill – rightfully so as it turned out. She felt that using magic had already cost them so much, and she was terrified what the price would be for using more."

Emma thought back, remembering that part of the story now. "That's when he promised he would pay it," she said quietly, sliding the book off the island and into her lap. The story fell open to that very spot with Ella, Thomas and James in the mines. She ran her finger down the page: _"Then I will pay it," said the prince. "I will do whatever is needed to save you and our child."_

Snow nodded. "His vow that day protected her and the baby. It saved Ella from being taken herself."

Emma stared down at young prince's face in the storybook, an exact replica's of Sean's of course. "Wow," was all she could say.

"James even thinks he was conscious of it," Snow added. "That he saw the rift open up beside the well and willingly stepped inside for her."

Emma blew out a sigh, closed the book and set it down. "So do you think it has anything to do with his beating last night?"

Snow retrieved her mug once more and frowned. "How so?" she asked as she hopped off the stool and limped over to the couch to retrieve her school bag.

"Well Rumpelstiltskin's magic cast him into limbo. Do you think Mr. Gold might be, I dunno, angry he escaped?" she followed Snow over to the couch, privately wishing she could convince her mother to give her ankle a few more days' rest before returning to school. But she was learning rather quickly that Snow White was just as obstinate as Emma Swan.

"I don't think so," Snow replied as the two women readied themselves to leave.

Emma's face fell. "Why not?" She'd been hoping to get some kind of lead out of the storybook, something that might help her solve this case. After all…it always worked for Henry.

"Well," Snow slung her bag over her shoulder. "For starters, brute violence? It's not really Stiltskin's style. But more importantly?" she paused and leveled her gaze with Emma's, "you."

Emma reeled back. "Me?"

"Have you forgotten your deal with Gold?"

She gasped, flashing back on the hospital a few weeks ago. "Oh."

"Your agreement released Ella's from her original bargain. As far as Rumpelstiltskin is concerned, his business with them is done. And believe me," she added with a frown, "a favor from the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming is…worth quite a bit more to him than Ella's baby." She hated seeing her daughter shudder with the same realization that had haunted Snow ever since her awakening. Emma owed Rumpelstiltskin a favor. What in the world would he require of her when he finally came to collect?

"God," Emma shook her head, "if I had known then that it was Rumpelstiltskin—"

"You _still _would have made the deal," Snow finished for her.

Emma looked over at her, a bit stunned. "You…don't know that," she said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. How highly her mother thought of her. How much she didn't deserve it.

"I do though," she argued, reaching out to squeeze her daughter's arm. "That's the kind of person you are, Emma."

"Yeah, I'm not so sure about that."

"Well," Snow grinned, grabbing her coat which she'd flung over the easy chair the night before. "I do. I saw how you were with the Zimmer kids. And I see how you are with Henry. You would've done anything to keep Gold from tearing Alexandra away from her mother."

Emma wasn't quite sure how to respond. That was twice within the past 6 hours that both her parents had shown such faith in her. Faith she still wasn't sure she could ever live up to. So she tucked the book into her own bag and fumbled around for her keys.

Snow, sensing her daughter's discomfort, simply offered a warm smile and pulled the focus back to their most immediate concerns. "I think Thomas's attack has far more to do with Storybrooke than anyone from our…other pasts."

Emma looked up as the two of them headed for the door. "Really?"

Snow nodded, pulling on her coat and stepping out into the hallway. "King Christopher didn't have many enemies. Theirs was a quiet, peaceful kingdom and they kept mostly to themselves. Whoever did this, I think, had a problem with _Sean_…not Thomas."

"I agree, your Highness," came a man's voice through front entrance of Snow's townhouse. Both jumped in surprise and then relief as Rick Shields joined them at the door.

"Rick," Snow gasped and then rolled her eyes, ignoring the spike of panic through her veins at having once again been overheard talking about, well, old times (they really had to start lowering their voices!). "What are you doing here?"

"What are you talking about?" Frederick nodded first to the deputy and then to Snow. "You asked me to give you a ride on your first day back to school, remember?" he winked. "Wouldn't want you driving too much with that ankle."

Emma caught on first and grinned. "Right, of course not." She smirked back then lowered her voice. "Did you find anything?"

"Not a trace of magic," he said as the two of them helped Snow maneuver herself, crutches and all, to Frederick's SUV. "And I talked to a few uh…passerbys that looked harmless enough." His tone suggested these 'passerbys' were most likely Garcon regulars who weren't passerbys at all, but lived on the street. "Said they heard a struggle, a few grunts and a lot of shouting, but nothing…unusual."

Snow (having grudgingly accepted Frederick's carpool as a necessary cover for relaying this information) yanked open the passenger side door and tossed in her bag. "Any actual witnesses?"

Frederick shook his head. "Sorry. There wasn't a whole lot to go on. I don't think you and the sheriff will find much more this afternoon," he said turning to Emma. "I _did _hear from a few people that Sean's boss, Jack Hunter? Was _really _drunk last night. And from the sounds of it, kinda…pissed off all evening," he glanced at Snow and bowed his head. "Excuse my language, Majesty."

Snow smacked him on the arm. "Stop that, I mean it," she grinned then turned to Emma. "Jack Hunter is really Gaston Saoul. He was a man who—"

"Gaston?" Emma spluttered, recognizing the name. "_Gaston_ is real too?" She felt sure most of the periphery characters were fictional inventions (After all, there were no mice in Cinderella's story named Gus).

Snow exchanged looks with Frederick and then nodded. "Very real. And I imagine not at all pleased when Belle quit yesterday. Although I don't know what has to do with Thomas."

"Especially now since he's out of bartenders," Frederick added sardonically; then with a slight bow of his head, he turned from them and rounded the car to the driver's side.

Conceding his point, Emma sighed. "Well," she shrugged. "It's a start."

But Snow could tell her daughter felt deflated. "What's wrong?" she asked as Frederick hoisted himself into the car on the other side.

"I dunno," she shook her head. "I was just…I was hoping I'd get some sort of lead out of all of this. Something from those stories I could actually _use_ to solve the case." She paused, biting her lip, knowing how the rest would sound if she said it out loud and not wanting to disappoint her mother.

Snow wasn't fooled though, and simply stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

"I…I just…I'd hoped this one would be…easy. From a 'case' point of view I mean," she added hastily. "Don't get me wrong, Thomas is obviously a great guy, and I want to find his attacker—"

"But every minute you spend on _this_…is time you could be spending looking for Ava and Nicolas," Snow again finished her sentence. And this time, she took the words right from the deputy's mouth.

Emma hung her head and nodded.

Snow lifted her daughter's face by her chin and smiled. "Emma, we _all _want to find Ava and Nicolas…_and _Michael. That fight isn't over yet, and there's nothing wrong with what you feel."

"I just…I don't want you to think—"

"I _don't_," Snow cut in, squeezing her daughter's arm. "The queen has created…quite the mess for us to deal with. It's gonna take time to figure it all out."

"Yeah," Emma folded her arms and sighed. "Time we don't have."

"Maybe not," Snow placed her other hand on Emma's shoulder and gave her an affectionate shake. "But we have each other."

Emma gulped, staring into the eyes of a woman who had trusted and believed in her from the very beginning. _That woman loved you before she even knew who _she_ was_, her father's voice reminded her_._ How in the world had she gone from orphaned loner to beloved daughter in a just a week and a half?

"You're gonna be late, Miss Blanchard," said Frederick in a rather sing-songy voice.

Snow rolled her eyes, but the knight had a point, so she stepped up into the SUV. She yanked the door shut and then glanced back at her daughter through the window. 'I love you' she mouthed to Emma as Frederick put the car in reverse and started backing out.

Emma watched as the car disappeared down the street. "I love you too," she whispered, "Mom."

…

Mitchell wasn't exactly sure how he'd ended up here, sitting outside the mayor's office waiting for an appointment he hadn't even requested to discuss something he never said he wanted. The last 12 hours had not only been terribly upsetting, but had flown by so fast that he couldn't actually remember how he got to be _here_ – sitting next to Ashley Boyd's step mother of all people who was helping him obtain a restraining order to keep his own son from the woman he loved.

He kept playing that awful confrontation over and over again in his head, still trying to figure out why he'd become so venomous, so unfeeling toward the young woman – the mother, like it or not, of his granddaughter. He'd thought so often these past few days of reaching out to both of them, of reconciling their differences and begging them both to return to Mifflin Street and start over. He even thought he might confront them the tree lighting ceremony tomorrow: Christmas had always been his and Sean's favorite time of year, especially in the years following Mazie's death. But receiving that terrifying phone call informing him that his son had been nearly beaten to death had eradicated every shred of humility and sentimentality he'd had. And when he'd walked into that exam room and saw Ashley standing over his son…he'd inexplicably and violently…snapped. In fact, for as long as he could remember, every time he _saw _Ashley…something inside him snapped.

And then, of course, even more mysterious was her strange outburst – claiming Sean was actually her husband? Calling him Thomas? – it was crazy, right? Certifiable. And yet stranger still was the unsettling feeling that…they'd had this conversation before.

"She's ready for us," said Rodmilla, snapping him out of his haze.

"Hmm?"

"The mayor," scoffed Tremaine, tapping her foot impatiently. "She'll see us now."

Mitchell lifted his gaze to the tall, severe woman and frowned. "Why are you doing this, Rodmilla?" he asked plainly.

"Doing what?"

He cleared his throat, rising to his feet. "I've…appreciated your support all these weeks, and you've been a good friend," he acknowledged, "but Ashley is your _step-daughter_. I'm…kind of shocked that you—"

"Mitchell," Tremaine adopted her best, most empathetic tone. "You and I both know that you can never love someone else's child the way you love your own."

Mitchell started, and took a few steps back from her. For some reason, _that _sounded familiar too. But he had no idea why.

"I value _our _friendship far more than I do any relationship I might still have with my step-daughter," she explained. "You said so yourself last night. If it weren't for her, Sean would never have been out that late, wandering around West End."

Mitchell shook his head. "See? That right there; how do you even _know _about that?"

But Rodmilla was not thrown. Not one bit. "Mitchell," she said almost condescendingly, "the moment something happens in Storybrooke that concerns one of my friends and I _don't _know about it? _That's_ the time to be concerned. Gossip travels fast in this town, especially from the hospital. And I for one have had just about enough of that no good relation of mine flashing her innocent little smile at every poor, naïve boy that comes along and never having to deal with the consequences."

Mitchell cringed at this description of his would-be daughter-in-law. Rodmilla had alluded before to Ashley's alleged promiscuity throughout her youth, but Mitchell had honestly heard nothing to corroborate it. Still, he couldn't quite reconcile his own indignation where Ashley was concerned. What he'd said was perhaps cruelly phrased, but accurate. If it weren't for Ashley, Sean never would have had to get himself a job in one of the seediest establishments in town – _Did it ever occur to you that maybe if you hadn't thrown him out of your life, he wouldn't have had to get a job in West End to support us?_ – Ashley's treble retort echoed in his mind, and Mitchell hung his head in shame. Who was he kidding? What was he _doing_?

"Mr. Herman," came the mayor's voice as she pushed open the opulent double doors of her office. Regina Mills flashed him a warm, supportive smile and then stepped to one side of the entrance. "Come right in. The judge will be along shortly."

Mitchell felt ill, nauseous. This was wrong, he thought. This isn't the kind of man he wanted to be. But despite his doubts, despite Ashley's haunting words, he allowed the two women to usher him inside.

…

Rose slipped her receipt in the front cover of her latest purchase and tucked it into her canvas bag. "Thanks Joel," she said to the small man across the counter who had had the run of her favorite store in town for as long as she could remember. "I'm surprised you had this one in stock."

"Anything for you, Rose," came his equally small and pleasant voice. It was hard to imagine what Snow had told her about him to be true: that he was one of her legendary seven dwarfs and was more likely to be covered in soot from digging in diamond mines than swimming through receipts and inventories of used books. How strange it would be for him to discover – if he ever discovered – that he had six brothers somewhere in town and that they were once instrumental in protecting an entire kingdom from being overrun by dark magic.

Stranger yet was the fact that Joel – or Happy – just happened to have in stock a rare children's book she'd discovered online last night called _Beauty_ which chronicled a very different, very unique version of the fantasy heroine she had supposedly inspired. Convinced as she had always been that knowledge was power, she decided that she would try to learn as much about her tale as she possibly could between now and tomorrow evening…when she and Snow would be attempting the most ludicrously insane rescue of a most unlikely target – a mental patient.

Of course the source material she most wanted to get her hands on was the famed storybook that had found its way into the hands of Henry Mills. She supposed she was in a rather long line of people who wanted to read the book, but she hoped one day to be able to glance through its pages. Her dreams were getting more and more vivid every time she closed her eyes, but they were still dreams, and the images she got were often mixed with the fears and obstacles of the present. She planned to head over to Mary Margaret's – or Snow White's school later that afternoon to see if she could have a peak.

"You know someone dropped off a whole set of old encyclopedias last week," said Joel as she turned to the exit.

"Oh yeah?"

Joel nodded, picking up his copy of the _Daily Mirror_ he'd been reading when she came in. "Great fun those old books. One volume has tons of information on the Soviet Union."

Rose chuckled, waved, and was about to head out when something on the back of the page he was reading jumped out at him. She scanned the headline quickly and gasped.

_The Daily Mirror – _December 6, 2011_ – _**Local bartender found savagely beaten in back parking lot of West End tavern**_ – _By Sidney Glass.

"Oh my God!" she cried, practically leaping back to the counter. "Let me see that." She practically snatched the paper out of his hands, refolded it along its original crease and read the headline again.

"Oh, you didn't see that this morning?" Joel frowned sadly.

"No, I didn't read my paper today. I headed straight…" she trailed off, skimming the first few paragraphs. "Sean Herman, fairly new to Storybrooke's infamous West End backstreets, was found beaten and left for dead last night in the parking lot of Garcon's tavern?" she read aloud, her heart pounding as she thought of her dear friend whom she'd seen only hours beforehand at Collodi's garage. "Sheriff Humbert states that a 9-1-1 call was placed from Herman's cell phone, but medical personnel doubt that the !"

"Just awful isn't it?" Joel tsked, looking down at the page. "Isn't that Mitchell Herman's son?"

"Umm, Joel I'm sorry. I have to go. Can I," she held the paper up hastily, "can I borrow this?"

Joel nodded, slightly startled by her abrupt exit but wanting to help in any way possible. "Of course."

Rose muttered a thanks and practically sprinted out the door.

…

"All I'm saying is whenever anything strange around here happens, one of them usually shows up, so why not just...beat 'em to it?" Emma argued as she and Graham walked up the small cobbled path to Jack Hunter's front door.

"Because there's just no reason to believe that Gold had anythin' to do with this," Graham replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "As…shady as that man's operation is, I don' recall ever seein' 'im in West End."

She stopped him before he knocked on the door. "And Regina?" she challenged.

Graham closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. "Wasn't there last night either."

_Well you would know_, she thought, though she wasn't feeling quite as indignant and petty toward him as she had been before he'd disappeared. She understood so much more about the sheriff and the mayor's hold on him than she ever had before. Still, she couldn't shake the jealousy that gnawed at her stomach every time she thought about Graham and Regina together. The awkwardness of his confession hung in the air between them, so instead of dwelling on it, she reached passed him and banged on the door.

Graham bit down hard on his lip, fumbling for something to say. So much about the last few weeks were hazy to him. But there was one image in his mind still crystal clear: Emma's face upon catching him sneaking out of Regina's back window – the single most humiliating moment of his life. "Emma—" he started, but he was blessedly interrupted when the door was wrenched open.

"Yeah?" came a groggy, raspy male voice along with the very singular and distinct smell of someone totally hung over.

"Mr. Hunter?" Graham asked in an unnecessarily formal tone.

The man squinted in the cold but unusually sunny morning. "Yeah?" he said again, a bit more focused. He seemed to finally realize the only two law enforcement officers in all of Storybrooke were standing at his front door…and the image brought sharply into focus the events of last evening. "What can I do for you Sheriff?" he cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his jeans, wishing he'd thought to pull a sweatshirt over his torn tee.

Emma ran her narrowed gaze up and down his form, scrutinizing every angle. This wasn't just a man hung over; this guy had been through the ringer. She counted no less than six bruises along his shoulders, a cut across his jaw, and scraped up knuckles. Thinking immediately of Sean – or Thomas's – battered body at the hospital, Emma sucked in a breath and clenched her fists tight. "Did you have a um…rough night Mr. Hunter?" she asked steadily.

Jack's eyes flew from one to the other, trying to think fast. "Y-yeah," he said with a half-hearted chuckle. "Yeah, Sheriff I think I had a bit one too many if you know what I'm sayin'."

Graham and Emma exchanged glances. "Yeah, I think we do," Graham replied. "You mind if we come inside?"

Jack decided it would be best to appear cooperative. Besides, inviting them in, having them sit down, offering them water…it bought him time to think up—

"Were you in a fight last night, Jack?" Emma asked abruptly as he led the two of them through the main hall to the wood-paneled den.

Jack panicked a moment, and then quickly settled on a story. "Yeah," he responded at once, turning around with another half-hearted chuckle. "Yeah I was, heh!" He pointed to one of the bruises on his hand and winked at the hot deputy. "You should see the other guy."

Emma bit her tongue and continued to seethe (though outwardly keeping her cool). "Who with?" she asked as Jack gestured for them both to be seated on a brown leather sofa.

The man shrugged. "Just one uh my bum customers – got feisty and a little lucky." He angled his face to the side and gestured to a fresh shiner. "Landed a few before he calmed down."

"Got anyone who can verify that?" Graham leaned forward.

"Sure!" Jack answered a little too quickly for Emma's liking. "One uh my bartenders, Sean."

Again the sheriff and deputy exchanged a look, but didn't reply.

"What?" Jack drew back, feigning ignorance. "Just ask him. Sean Herman. Helped me sober the guy up and send 'im on his way before we closed for the night."

Graham peered at him, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth.

Emma of course…could already tell he was lying.

"Sean Herman is," Graham said slowly, glancing to his partner and then back again, "the reason we're here."

Jack leaned back into his arm chair and shook his head. "Oh no, don't tell me that kid's in trouble again."

"Again?"

"Yeah he's always gettin' into beefs he can't handle. Tries to break up a fight, ends up in the middle of it – that kinda thing. What happened this time?"

Emma flew to her feet. "Mr. Hunter, Sean Herman was brutally beaten last night, almost to _death _in _your _back parking lot. You tell _me _what happened!"

Jack plastered a mixture of horror and concern across his face. "Brutally beat – _Sean_? Jesus, I had no idea. Is he—will he be all right?"

The manufactured concern was enough to make Emma want to hurl. Graham seemed to sense this and rose to her side. "Too soon to tell. He's sustained heavy injuries and is still unconscious."

_Unconscious! _Jack thought, _even better_. "Christ, man. That's nuts," he blew out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair, attempting to appear as if he were thinking about who in the world might do such a thing.

"Was there anyone at Garcon's last night that seemed to be giving Sean a hard time? Someone who had it in for him?"

Finally, Jack stood up, propped one arm up on the other and rested his thumb and forefinger beneath his chin. He thought for a few minutes, then snapped his fingers. "You know," his eyes grew wide as he looked to the sheriff, "now that I think of it, Pilfer was amblin' inside just as I was leaving for the night."

"Pilfer, really?"

Emma shot him a look. "Who's Pilfer?"

Graham sighed. "Shane Pilfer, he's a…well, I've picked him a few times for gambling in the past."

"And rough-housing," Jack added. "Don't forget about that fight at the docks."

"Yes but he's never done anything this brutal," Graham countered and then turned back to Emma. "Actually half of the times I've brought him in, I haven't even pressed charges. He's not a bad guy, he's just—"

"Whacked out since his wife left 'im, Sheriff," Jack scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "Maybe next time you'll give 'im more than a warning huh?"

Emma jerked her head around. "Hey!" she snapped, "You wanna let _us _worry about that. Ok?"

Jack held his hands up in mock surrender with a slight bow and took a step back.

"Do you know where we can find Shane these days?" Graham asked, ignoring the glare he got from Emma.

The bar owner shrugged. "He's been laying low for a while. I'd start with his ex." He paused, glanced at the fuming blonde and threw her a wink (hell, this brilliant cover he'd concocted on the spot was going so well, he was in the mood to flirt again). "Word is she's been shackin' up with the doctor takin' care of her old man."

Emma bit her tongue as an awkward silence fell in the room. "We'll be sure to look into that. Thanks for your time," said Graham, seizing Emma's arm and gently urging her back to the door. "If we have any questions we'll let you know."

In seconds, the sheriff had ushered his deputy back to Jack Hunter's front stoop and closed the door behind them. "What the hell was _that_?" Emma asked, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Emma—"

"You _know _that asshole is lying about something—"

"Of course I do," Graham hissed, continuing to guide her down the drive and back to their car. "But we can't very well _arrest_ him for being an ass, can we."

"Did you _see _the marks all over his arms? His chin? _Someone_ worked him over last night," Emma argued, opening up the passenger door, though making no move to get in.

Graham blinked, as if waiting for her to continue, and then it was clear what she was implying, "Are you suggesting it was _Sean_?" he almost laughed. "Emma, the lad in that hospital doesn't look like he 'landed a few good ones' on anyone."

"Maybe not, but—"

"And even if he did, he's still unconscious. We won't know whether or not Jack's story checks out unless—" he paused, then amended— "_until _Sean wakes up. In the meantime, we've got a lead to follow."

Emma rolled her eyes and finally slumped into the seat as Graham got in behind the wheel. "More like a wild goose chase."

"Maybe so," Graham conceded, "but it's just as likely that Shane Pilfer _did _stop at Garcon's late last night, and if so, he might've seen something. We're doing this one," he jammed the key into the ignition, "by the book."

He started the car and headed back up to the square, sneaking a look over at his deputy every so often, wondering what she was thinking. Finally, as they rounded the corner, she heaved a sigh and gave in. "Fine, but do me a favor."

He glanced over, eyebrows raised.

"Drop me off at the hospital first. I have a few more questions for that nurse."

…

In all his years as Storybrooke's resident Mr. Fix-It, Marco Collodi couldn't remember a single tree-lighting ceremony that he didn't help orchestrate. But this was certainly the first year he'd had a dwarf felling the tree and a prince sorting through lights. After hearing about Thomas's attack that morning, he and James had talked quite seriously about the queen's precious status quo. They couldn't exactly put anything on hold or cease operating as they normally would, so it was decided that preparations for the festival would continue. A part-time amnesiac certainly had no business investigating a beating anyway (that was his daughter's job), and Grumpy – as Leroy – wasn't at all aware of the curse or his identity. So James and Leroy grudgingly trudged out to the woods that morning to claim the tree that the mayor had selected a month ago for the night's festivities.

By early afternoon, the tree arrived at the square (via Grumpy's creative rather creative towing apparatuses…after all, _that_ job had always been Michael Tillman's, so the grouchy mechanic had improvised) and the two of them were now stringing lights and testing circuitry in front of Mr. Bridgeport's Emporium. So Marco was all on his own when an unexpected visitor walked into his shop.

"Mr…Collodi?" came a reserved voice from the door.

Marco looked up to see none other than Sean's father push his way through the double doors, fighting against the icy winds. "Mr. Herman," he nodded. Mitchell walked over, rubbing his hands together and breathing hot air into his palms. "What can I do for you?"

The man cleared his throat and took a deep breath as he reached the counter. "I wanted to um…make sure you were aware—"

"Of Sean's attack," Marco replied at once. "Yes, we heard this morning. How is he?"

Mitchell looked down. "It's uh…too soon to tell."

Marco paused a moment, the father's pain so palpable he could feel it radiating across the desk…and it felt vaguely familiar. "Well, we're all thinking of him of course…and of you. Be sure to keep us informed?"

He nodded but didn't look up. "Well…I just wanted to be sure you that…you know…you knew not to expect him in today," he said and started to walk away.

The man seemed suddenly in a hurry to leave, and given the trauma he'd clearly been through in the past 12 hours, Marco was inclined to simply allow the man a quick exit. But there was something lingering in his tone. Something that demanded attention. And it was something Marco had learned not to ignore. "I appreciate that Mr. Herman, but if I may be so bold," he called after Mitchell causing him to stop, "I don't believe that's the real reason you came here." Mitchell paused. "You could have called me from the hospital to tell me Sean wouldn't be coming in today." Slowly his guest turned, and Marco came around to the front of the counter and gestured him away from the door. "Please my friend...I understand you haven't spoken with your son for several weeks." He saw the man wince, but pressed on. "I have an empty shop and a friendly ear. If there's anything you wish to say…or ask…I would only be too happy to answer."

"What is there to say?" Mitchell mumbled, though without much conviction.

"In the matters of family, my friend," Marco leveled with him, "there is _always _something to say."

Mitchell's gaze widened for a moment, and then he glanced around, almost as if checking that they were indeed alone. Marco understood implicitly what the grey-haired gentleman seemed to fear, for he chuckled lightly and held his arms to the sides. "I promise my younger, more…righteously minded employees are not here to judge, Sir. Please," he indicated a few chairs near the hanging metal shelves at the front. And after a moment's more hesitation, Mitchell finally acquiesced and scraped the metal chair away from the round white table.

Sitting down, he felt weary, more aged than he had felt in years. He should be back at the hospital of course. He should have returned right after his meeting that morning with the mayor and Rodmilla Tremaine. But having been rushed and pressured through the rather alarmingly quick process of securing a restraining order, Mitchell couldn't bring himself to return to the bedside of the son whom he'd just _legally _separated from his fiancée. He felt like a complete heal. What was _wrong _with him? Why hadn't he spoken up? Why did the slim white envelope tucked into his breast pocket that contained a document demanding a space of at least 100 feet between Sean Herman and Ashley Boyd feel like it weighed a ton?

The old man waited patiently, hands folded in his lap with one leg crossed over the other. Mitchell hadn't even realized that he'd also brought two cups of coffee in styrofoam cups to the table and was sipping quietly as Mitchell sat and brooded. After a while, Mitchell finally leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and asked quietly, "Has he been…happy?"

He could see the craftsman's smile in the crinkle of his eyes as he finished drinking and set the cup back on the table. "Very," he said.

Mitchell looked away. "Because of…her?"

"Which _her, _Mr. Herman – Miss Boyd?...or your granddaughter?" Marco knew the response was a bit accusatory, but it was his aim now to remind King Christopher of the father Marco knew he could be. "He is very happy, Mr. Herman. Because of them both."

Mitchell slid the chair back and stood up again, swallowing hard. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"If you don't mind my asking," Marco cleared his throat, but remained at his seat, "your disapproval of his reconciling with Miss Boyd is quite…public. What exactly do you object to?"

"It's not—" Mitchell started but then stopped again, unable to truly articulate his feelings because quite frankly, he didn't understand them himself. He couldn't very well explain to Marco Collodi the enormous heartache he felt every time he _looked_ at her – that feeling of disappointment in her that bordered on betrayal. "She…" he tried again, "she _trapped _my _son_," he said at last.

Marco looked down. "I see."

"She manipulated him into…into this life," Mitchell continued and suddenly the words poured out. Words that were not his, but were all he had to speak with. "And I have it on good authority that this isn't the first young man she's set out to trap!"

"Mr. Herman—"

"She just—s-she just couldn't leave well enough alone could she? I arranged everything. They could have _both _had their whole lives still in front of them, but she wouldn't back off! And now Sean is _stuck_," he slammed his fist atop the table, "stuck in this _God-_forsaken town with no way out and no future."

Marco did not reply, merely listened. The cursed king was perhaps wiser than even James had given him credit for. The man clearly knew his son was meant for more and _deserved _more than to be 'trapped' in Storybrooke. Unfortunately, Christopher couldn't possibly be aware that it wasn't Ella doing the trapping, and Marco wasn't about to try and explain it.

Mitchell slumped into his chair, rubbing his palms across his grey slacks. "Everything I wanted for him…all I did to make sure he would have a better life than…than I've had here…" he trailed off, staring at the table top. "And when I tried to tell him that…when I tried to explain—"

"He wouldn't hear you," Marco finished for him. The man looked up, caught his gaze and sighed. "This is not surprising," he chuckled. "Sean is…extremely stubborn. Something I believe he gets…from his father."

Mitchell looked away again, shaking his head. "I can't talk to him anymore. He's just…he's _changed _so much. The last time we spoke…" he trailed off once more, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the tears to cease before they spilled. Their last argument had been more than heated. Sean was absolutely livid, despite the fact that only a week beforehand, he _and _Ashley had been completely on board with the plan. True it wasn't exactly the ideal arrangement, but Gold had assured him the child would be loved and well taken care of, Ashleyhad assured him that she didn't feel she _could _care for a child on her own, and Sean…well Sean had claimed this was what he _wanted_. The full ride at Fort Kent was just supposed to be the beginning. He was getting out. He was on his way _out_! Mitchell laced his fingers together in front of him, staring blankly at his palms. "He's just…he's not the same boy I raised."

The two men were silent for many moments, Mitchell struggling with feelings he still didn't quite understand, while Marco was keenly aware how carefully he must choose his next words. He supposed in some ways, he had an advantage over James and Snow and Thomas. He didn't remember _being _Geppetto and so his brain was not addled and jumbled with two sets of memories overlapping and confusing him. He could clearly remember Mitchell Herman and the loving relationship he'd had with his son. And it was that bond between them, Marco knew, that would draw them back together. "Mitchell," he leaned forward at last, speaking in that hushed, grandpa-like tone that softened any debate. "Did you provide for Sean? Did he have everything he needed growing up?"

Mitchell drew back, furrowing his brow. "Yes?"

"And did you and your late wife…raise him in a loving home?"

He closed his eyes, having guessed where the old man was going. "Yes," he whispered.

"Then I believe Sean is _exactly _the man you raised him to be."

Mitchell collapsed into the seatback, unable to respond.

"Fathers," Marco concluded, "always want to give their sons a better life than their own. But in the end, they just want their children to be happy." He leaned forward, urging Mitchell to look up. "Perhaps Sean didn't choose the career you would have liked him to or gone away to school, but those aren't the choices that define us, my friend." He took a deep breath, wondering now if he was getting through, but it was too late to turn back. "The moment Sean chose Ashley, he becamethe man _you_ showed him how to be…a loving father. That little girl knows what it is to be loved…because of you."

Mitchell shuddered, hardly able to stomach the compliment as visions of his public shunning of Ashley at the hospital flashed before his eyes. He still had no idea how he had come to be that cruel. And then of course, in picturing the hospital, he thought of Sean himself, lying on that bed covered in bandages, facing a terrifying prognosis that may yet ruin any chance he had left at a reunion between them. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked quietly, though he was talking more to himself than actually asking for advice.

Marco wasted no time in responding though. "For starters, I believe you should stop listening to whatever spiteful folks are slandering poor Ashley's name. That girl is sweeter than an angel on Sunday." He rose from his chair and headed back to his counter. Mitchell followed closely behind him, curious by the sudden purpose in the old man's step while he tried to ignore the shame at having believed Rodmilla all this time about Ashley. As he'd reflected this morning, it seemed perfectly clear that there was nothing unseemly about the girl – an impression (he'd striven to forget) that he'd had of Ashley Boyd when Sean first brought her home. "And then I wonder if you might do me a favor," Collodi shouted from his office. He'd disappeared for a moment into the back room and then re-emerged, carrying what looked to be a small shoebox. Mitchell met him on the other side of the counter and stood opposite the old mechanic who now set the box between them. "Sean commissioned these as a sort of wedding present for Ashley," Marco explained. "I finished them this morning, just before I heard of the attack."

Mitchell's eyes darted down as Marco slowly lifted the lid. Once the gift inside was revealed, Mitchell gasped at the sheer beauty and craftsmanship. He recognized at once what they were supposed to be, but was slightly confused as to their meaning. He supposed it represented some sort of private joke between his son and the girl…and then he hung his head again in shame, realizing he would have been privy to such a joke had he allowed them into his life. "What do you want me to do?"

Marco replaced the lid and then reached under the counter to obtain a bit of ribbon he'd stashed for when he finished especially sentimental repairs. Carefully, he slid the ribbon beneath the box and drew it up around the sides as he spoke. "Well, he never said so specifically, but I don't believe he wanted to wait for the wedding any longer. In fact," he added as he tied the ribbon into a simple bow, "I'm fairly certain he wanted her to have them sooner rather than later." He cut the excess ribbon off the ends and then slid the box directly in front of Mitchell. "Perhaps you might deliver them for me?"

Mitchell made no move to claim the box; he simply stared, wondering exactly how he'd been drawn into this unlikely conversation in the first place. "I don't…I don't know if I—"

"Mitchell," Marco leveled with him, his tone now demanding attention as Mitchell lifted his gaze. "There's not a one among us here who doubts that your son will wake up soon and make a _full _recovery." He looked down and placed his hand atop the gift. "Let him awaken to a world where his family is finally…whole."

A familiar ache pulled at Mitchell's heartstrings as Marco withdrew his hand and left him alone, hope lingering in the air with his words. Could it be that simple? Could he make amends for his wrongs with this curious gift? After considering the matter for a long while, Mitchell pulled the box from the counter, tucked it gingerly under his arm, and headed for the door. Before he left though, he paused to remove the dreadful envelope from his breast pocket, scoffed at the damn thing…and then tossed it in the trash.

…

*****This chapter is lovingly dedicated to longtime reader Rebecca who inspired me to delve further into the character of Christopher and the pasts of Thomas and Ella. **

**School's out (finally) and creative juices are starting to flow again! Thanks for your patience with this chapter. Hoping to bang out a few more soon. Cannot WAIT to write the next scene in store for Ella. **

**Happy Reading!*****


	28. Gonna be epic

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that _ABC_'s geniuses have given us on _Once Upon a Time_.

_This is a __**what-if**__ story: The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Gonna be epic**

Henry Mills had learned at a very early age to take a lot on faith. But even he was a bit shaken by what he'd seen at Collodi's yesterday. In fact, he hadn't been this freaked out since he'd seen Pops take a bite out of what he thought had been the queen's curse-laced pie, so he spent a good deal of the evening pacing his room, checking the window for signs or messages from his mom, and sifting through the _Captain America _comics that had taught him so much about being a hero.

Fortunately, all that worrying finally tuckered out the young prince, so he had no choice but to wait until morning to investigate further. The thought had crossed his mind a few times that perhaps Pops was just faking again. After all, he'd certainly fooled the queen that night at dinner. But he was..._ick…_all _over _Kathryn in that shop yesterday, and the look on his grandmother's face was enough to make both of them queasy. No, he thought slipping on his sneakers and zipping up his coat. No, there must be more to it than that. Pops had to be faking. It had to be part of some plan.

To his enormous relief, this theory was confirmed immediately by Snow the second he ran into her classroom that morning. He barely had time to register how glad he was to see his old teacher back at school period before he skipped most of the pleasantries and got right down to Cobra business. Snow explained patiently that 'Pops' was not only faking, but Kathryn was as well. And the sheer elation that filled the boy's heart at hearing that Operation Cobra now had _three_ more members – one of whom was his own gym teacher and another who was Cinderella's prince ! – drove away any lingering doubts in his mind that they would win. No matter the queen did, Snow White would have her happy ending. She and prince charming wouldbe together, the curse _would_ end, and Good. Would. Win!

"Henry could you please grab me that stack of projects?" Snow called to him now as she sat at her desk, sorting through the slight mess that her well-intentioned substitute gym teacher left behind. It was recess, and all of his classmates were outside. But as Ava and Nicolas were still missing, there were no kids out there that were of any interest to Henry.

"Sure," he said brightly, and hopped over to the desk, the pile of sloppily constructed amateur book covers in hand. He frowned at how crumpled and goopy the projects were. Surely as fifth graders, they were all capable of a bit more effort than this. But Mr. Shields hadn't exactly administered the project very well: they were to create original book covers for their favorite books using the supplies that 'Miss Blanchard' had stowed in her art cabinet. But Rick hadn't been able to find the materials the first day, so half of the students started their covers on regular old printer paper, and he even let some kids use torn out sheets of notebook paper from their journals! "I guess we know why Mr. Shields teaches gym and not English," Henry smirked as he handed over the stack.

Snow laughed as she checked a few stray worksheets from their lesson that day into her gradebook, "Yeah, I guess so."

Henry jumped up on one of the desktops across from his grandmother and swung his legs back and forth. "Are you even going to grade those?" he asked.

Snow looked up. "Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged. "Just…doesn't seem to matter that much anymore, you know?"

She paused, gave her grandson a dubious grin, and then set her down. "Really?" she cocked an eyebrow. Henry suddenly felt as if he'd given the wrong answer in class.

"Well um," he gulped. "You know with all the—" he leaned forward and whispered with exaggerated secrecy, "—Cobra…stuff?"

Snow leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. Oh, this would be fun. "And what do you think would happen Henry, if 'Miss Blanchard' suddenly stopped doing her job effectively?"

Henry bit his lip and his legs stopped swinging. "The queen would get suspicious," he rolled his eyes.

"Right. And _you _just might be taken out of this class."

The kid gave himself a well-deserved face palm. "Jeez, I didn't even think of that! You don't think she'd do it, do you? You don't think the queen will take me out of your class!"

Snow rose from her seat, limped around the desk and leaned up against the front edge. The sardonic tone of her voice faded when she realized her grandson had grown genuinely concerned. She reached forward and tousled his hair. "Let's just not give her any reason to, ok?"

"Deal." Henry nodded, feeling better. "So…Mr. Shields is really a knight huh?" he asked as the gleam returned to his crystalline eyes.

Snow grinned. "Mmm-hmm."

"Wish Ida known that this morning in gym class. Woulda asked if we could do a fencing unit!"

That earned him an outright guffaw from his grandmother, who threw her head back and laughed at the absurd image that idea planted in her mind – Sir Frederick teaching a bunch of fifth graders how to sword fight!

"And Sean's awake now too!" Henry continued. "I know he works at Collodi's with Pops but I haven't actually seen him since me and Emma drove to his house to help Cinderella. I can't _wait _to meet him as his real self!" The boy had prattled on so excitedly, he didn't notice how Snow's expression had grown quite serious. Looking back down at her, Henry drew back, narrowed his gaze and asked, "What?"

Snow sighed, looking down at the cast on her ankle and shaking her head. She'd conveniently left out the part this morning about Thomas having been attacked. Seeing Henry so worried to begin with, she hadn't wanted to upset him further, so she'd stuck to the 'good stuff' and left out the bad. Bad news was harder to deliver to a 10-year-old and not, Snow felt strongly, really her place. His _mother_ should decide what and when to tell him about the dangers of Storybrooke…then again, Henry – in some ways – knew so much more about this place than Emma, than _any _of them really, having been aware of the curse far longer than the rest of Operation Cobra. "Henry," she took a deep breath. "There's something I didn't mention about Thomas this morning."

Henry gulped. That certainly didn't sound good.

"Thomas was…attacked last night at the bar he works at." Henry gasped, jumping off the desk and landing right in front of her. "He was beaten up pretty bad."

"Is he dead?" Henry cried, unable to filter out his concerns in any more tactful way. "Tell me he's not dead—"

"No no, he's not dead," Snow assured him, dropping down to his level and placing her hands on his shoulders. "He's badly injured though and not, as far as we know, conscious yet."

"Oh man!" cried the boy, tugging at the ends of his hair as he began pacing in front of the chalkboard. "How'd she do it? How'd she do it?"

Snow hoisted herself back up and leaned against the desk. "How'd _who _do it?"

"Regina!" he said impatiently. "The queen! How'd she do it? She was home all night, I swear. I know because she fell asleep way before I did and—"

"Henry," Snow walked over and steadied him. "Why do you think this was the queen's doing?"

He shook his head and stared at his grandma as if she was a visitor from Neptune. "Isn't _everything_?"

Snow had to stifle a chuckle. "Well maybe so, but you know there are other…bad people in Storybrooke besides the queen right?"

He sighed. "Like Rumpelstiltskin?" he remembered.

"And maybe others," Snow warned, deciding it was better to implant the idea in the boy's mind _now _rather than for him to become too trusting of _anyone _who talked of the curse. After all, she wouldn't put it past Regina to have one of her cronies pull a fast one on Henry and pose as an ally to get information. "Your mom and Graham are gonna do a little digging today to see if we can find out who did this to him."

Henry sighed, glancing up at the princess. "Ok," he said at last.

But Snow knew there was more. "What's wrong?"

Her grandson shook his head, the cruel reality of what they all really faced dawning on him in a whole new light. He didn't know quite how to express it, but he knew he could start with what was most immediately disappointing. "It's just that…I was," he wrung his hands together, mumbling at the floor. "I was just looking forward to…meeting more of Pops' friends," he finished at last.

It pained her to see him so disappointed, but even more troubling to Snow was the fact that she'd seen this look on Henry's face many times before. Before Emma arrived, he came to class every day with that same feeling of hopelessness. What an overwhelming roller coaster of emotions her poor grandson was feeling this morning. She was about to open her mouth and utter some empty platitude, but a gentle tapping at the window alerted her, and she turned around to see Lucy pecking at the metal latch. She smiled, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the bluebird's impeccable timing. "Hey," she turned back to Henry. "How about you meet one of _my_ friends instead?" Henry looked up, checking the door immediately and then grew more perplexed when Snow led him over to the window.

Her meaning was soon clear though, for he watched as she cracked the window and the little bluebird hopped inside, perching right on her finger. "Oh," he said, trying to mask his disappointment. "We've actually uh, already met," he mumbled.

"I know," Snow smirked, not at all put off by his reaction ( Meeting a tiny bluebird wasn't nearly as exciting as meeting another prince). "She and a bunch of her friends led you to Cain who led you to Jefferson's mansion in the woods right?"

At this, Henry's brow furrowed. "Yyyyeah?" he said warily. "But how did _you _know that?" He supposed Geppetto could have told her that it was a flock of bluebirds that had led them first to James's massive stallion. But in Henry's young mind, it wasn't an overly dramatic detail.

Snow gave a casual shrug as she brought Lucy over to the desk. "She told me."

"She?" Henry followed her.

Gently, Snow set the bird down on top of the stack of projects. "Henry," she presented the bird proudly. "This is Lucy."

Still skeptical, Henry came around the desk and stood next to his grandma, reaching out to pet the little bird's head. "Umm…hi, Lucy." And to his complete and utter shock, as the little bird began to twitter happily, a tiny voice sounded in his head. _Hi Henry!_

Henry jumped back, thumping against the back work table. "What was that?"

Snow smiled knowingly. "What was what?" she asked.

"That…that voice, you didn't hear it?"

She turned comically to the bird, "Did you hear something Luce?"

Again the bird started twittering as Henry heard the tiny voice laugh and say _Nope!_ He swallowed hard and stared at the bird, wondering if perhaps he was going crazy. His only saving grace was that his grandmother seemed to know exactly what was going on and didn't seem all that worried. "She's…she's talking to me," he whispered, re-approaching the bird.

Snow beamed proudly at the young prince. "That's right, Henry. She is." Ever since Henry had arrived at Jefferson's mansion, she had suspected that her grandson had inherited her especial affinity for communicating with earth's noblest creatures. James of course could understand them to an extent, having spent much of his life raising them, but the skill did not come to him easily, and he more often relied on Snow's natural talents rather than trying to communicate on his own if he could help it. That natural talent was something that had apparently skipped a generation. Snow remembered Emma telling her once, early on, that she wasn't really a "fan" of wildlife. So when Henry appeared on top of Cain, a wild stallion that simply wouldn't have trusted so small a boy if he _didn't _havethe gift, Snow knew she was right. And really, _it's only fair_, she smirked to herself. With how much of her father's spirit and demeanor Emma had inherited, Snow couldn't help the little touch of pride she felt at seeing her suspicions confirmed about what she shared with her grandson.

"But…how?" Henry asked, mesmerized by the bouncing ball of cerulean fluff.

_You're just like Snow, young one! _he heard in his head as Snow explained.

"You have the gift, Henry. You understand her just as you understood Cain the other day."

Henry wrenched his gaze up to her. "But…but I didn't hear any _voices _then. I just had…had a—"

"A feeling?" Snow wrinkled her nose. Henry nodded. "Yep, that's how it starts. Just a feeling. I got a lot of those feelings when I was your age," she thought back fondly, remembering one of the last conversations she'd ever had with her mother. Queen Lavinia had already grown quite ill, but not so ill that she could not celebrate her daughter's 8th birthday. She had given Snow a beautiful blue statue of a unicorn, a statue that later served as James's inspiration when commissioning Emma's mobile. Lavinia told Snow that unicorns were among the kingdom's most noble animals and that she must treasure the toy as she would one day care for all the magical creatures of the land. "My mother knew even before I did that I would have the gift."

"And now I have it too?" Henry nearly shook with excitement. His first magical power! Cool!

"You've always had it Henry. Think about all your therapy sessions with Archie. Didn't you always get a…a sense that you knew what Pongo was feeling?"

Henry's jaw dropped. He'd never told _anyone _about _that_. "Yeah?"

"Well, that's because you're a good listener Henry. And that's how you learn. You listen to them…and then eventually," she looked back and held a perch out for Lucy, "they just start telling you things."

"Brilliant," Henry whispered as he held out his own finger and Lucy happily hopped over. She chirped and flapped her wings. _I agree! Swell!_ he heard, and both he and Snow laughed as Lucy gave them each a nod and then fluttered away. Henry watched as the bird whipped out of sight, and then he tugged on Snow's sleeve, turning her back around. "Thanks…Grandma."

Snow's eyes grew wide as saucers as she slowly sunk to her desk chair, eyes leveling with his own.

A sort of half-frown half-smirk broke across his face as he glanced up at her sheepishly. "Sorry," he shuffled back and forth on his feet, "was that…weird?"

Immediately, Snow shook her head, annoyed by the tears that kept welling up in her eyes these days. "No sweetheart," she beamed and drew him into a fierce hug. "Not weird at all."

…

As soon as Graham dropped her off, Emma headed straight for the intensive care unit where she knew Sean had been moved this morning. She'd called early on to check on his status and, discovering that there had been no change and therefore no chance of getting the real story directly from the victim, had proceeded to the crime scene and then to Jack Hunter's house with the sheriff. Now, several hours already into the afternoon, Emma was getting impatient. It seemed Jack Hunter, if he wasn't directly involved, at least _knew _much more than he was letting on. But Emma was bound to act in accordance with Storybrooke's charter and understood far more so now than she ever had before that she must play by the rules here else she draw unnecessary suspicion from the queen. _We can't very well arrest him for being an ass, can we, _Graham had challenged her that morning. _If only, _thought Emma as she flashed back to that smug look on the bastard's face. Knowledge that Jack was, indeed, a former villain in the Enchanted Forest certainly didn't make her feel any better as Emma stalked through corridors of Storybrooke General, looking for Sean's room. Relevant as the information was to Emma, she couldn't possibly share it with Graham. God, is _this_ what it felt like to be Henry?

When she finally reached Sean's room, she was mildly hopeful that, having been several hours since she last checked, he might be awake and able to shed some light on this whole who-kicked-his-ass thing. But the room was still dim and the curtains still half drawn around his lifeless form. She sighed, staring sadly at the prince she'd barely gotten to know, and then turned back to the door.

Her next objective she'd already professed to Graham – find Nurse Charles. Perhaps Sean had said something right when he was brought in, uttered some kind of clue, even a single word that might implicate Jack. She was almost to the door again, ready to begin her search before she jumped back, startled by the small figure sitting in the corner.

"Emma!" said the woman who was just as surprised.

Emma shook her head. It was Rose – or uh, Belle. "Rose?" she said, coming over to her. "Jeez I didn't even see you there."

"Me either," Rose looked back to Sean in a manner that gave Emma the distinct impression that she had been staring so long at the poor bartender that she'd probably spaced out a bit.

"You um," she glanced back at Sean. "You ok?"

Rose slowly nodded, rising from her chair. "Yeah I just…I wanted to visit."

Emma juddered her gaze between the two coworkers and then rubbed the back of her neck. "How is he?"

"No change," Rose said. "I just talked to the doctor a few minutes ago. They're um…they said they're not sure if he's…ever gonna walk again?" It was clear the woman was trying to hold back sniffles.

Emma shifted uncomfortably. This was more her mother's territory. "Yeah, they said that last night."

"God this is so awful!" Rose moved past her, squeezing her arms like she was cold as she approached the bed. "I feel so…so guilty."

Emma's focus shifted immediately. "Guilty? Why?" she asked, walking over to join her.

"Because," Rose's gaze was still fixed on her dear friend, "if I hadn't quit yesterday…if I hadn't left Jack, I-I would've been there last night. I might have seen something. I might have even stopped it."

"Rose," Emma sighed, trying not to be disappointed. She thought briefly that maybe Rose might also have intuited something about Jack's role in all this. "There is no way this," she gestured down at Sean, "is your fault."

"I shouldn't have left him working in that place all alone," she whispered. "Not after Snow told me about everything going on. He always had my back." Rose reached down and touched his hand. "I should've had his."

"Hey," Emma turned her from the bed to face her. "He's not…_dead_ ok?" she said, knowing it came out a little bluntly, but Emma had never prided herself on tact. "He's gonna get through this, and when he does, you'll…" she stammered in the very best support group voice she could muster, "you'll be there for him."

"Yeah," Rose let out a weary laugh, letting her hand fall back to her side, "if Snow and I aren't in _jail_ by then."

Emma drew back from her. "Jail?"

Rose narrowed her gaze. "You…do _know _what we're planning on doing tomorrow, right?"

"Oh!" Emma cried, slapping her forehead. In the commotion and drama surrounding Sean's attack, she _had_ actually forgotten about the planned rescue attempt of beauty's beast upstairs. "God, that's right. Are you," she glanced back at the door to see if anyone was passing by in the hallway. "Are you…ready for that?"

Rose shrugged sadly and shook her head. "I dunno. _Can _you be ready for something like this?"

Emma looked back at Sean. "No…I guess not."

The two were silent for a few moments before curiosity got the better of the young deputy. "Have you um…have you ventured upstairs?"

Rose automatically looked up at the ceiling, as if she could see right through to the third floor, then shook her head. "No…and believe me, it's killing me not to."

"Really?"

She nodded, resting her hand over her womb. It was true; from the moment she'd entered the hospital, she'd felt that same pull in her stomach, that agonizing ache trying to draw her up to…him. It was stronger now perhaps because she _knew _he was up there. _Knew _they were connected. And it was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to go to him. For she knew if she went before they were ready, if she showed her face up there today, they'd have no chance of success tomorrow.

"Sorry," Emma mumbled. "Shouldn't have brought it up."

"No it's ok," Rose said quickly. But the two fell silent once more, both of them knowing there was nothing more to say on the matter. After a time, Rose sighed looking back at her friend. "I can't believe he didn't even bother to _tell _me about this," she muttered, more to herself than Emma.

"Who?"

"Jack," she said derisively.

Once again, Emma went on alert. "Jack?"

Rose rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "I mean I know I just…you know, broke up with the guy. But you think he would at least call me and tell me our coworker is in the hospital."

Emma swallowed hard, choosing her words carefully. "Rose," she started slowly, "do you think…I mean, is it possible that Jack would have had…anything to do with this?"

Rose's eyes shot wide open. "Anything to _do _with this? Like what?"

"I," she held her arms up, trying to downplay the suspicion. She couldn't very well have an irate Belle stomping over to Gaston and tipping their hand that he was suspect. "I just wonder because Graham and I talked to him today and he…he had some…bruises on his face and arms…looked like he'd been in a fight."

Rose's jaw dropped as she stared blankly in front of her. Jack had been in a fight? Possibly the same fight as…as Sean? That didn't make sense at all! "I…I don't see how…" she stammered, forcing herself to revisit her own argument with Jack yesterday. Why in the world would Jack have gone after Sean? His only remaining bartender no less! "I don't think so," she said, though without any real conviction.

And Emma noted the tone. "You sure? You sure he didn't, I dunno," she shrugged, grasping at straws, "think maybe there was something going on with you two and—"

"Oh God!" Rose clamped her hand over her mouth. "Oh God I _hope _not!" she cried. "It was never like that with Sean. We never…I don't see how he could possibly think…" but she was stuttering now and the words would not come. For if Jack Hunter ever suspected that Rose had been with another man? She whirled around and stared at Sean in a new light – this would be _exactly _how that bully would 'handle it'.

"Ok well," Emma tried to pat her on the back, wondering if maybe she shouldn't have said anything (though she had to admit this reaction was certainly consistent with what Emma had come to believe Jack capable of herself). "I just thought maybe you might know something—"

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Rose asked, turning back with a little more ire in her expression than Emma had seen to date.

"No!" Emma cried at once. "No no, don't…don't say anything. If he knows we suspect him, he'll bolt."

Rose nodded, though she seemed frustrated. "I just…I can't believe he'd…" she was muttering to herself, shaking her head and crossing her arms again as she looked back to Sean.

Emma panicked as she watched the already confused enough semi-awake fairy tale character pacing the hospital room. This was not good. Ugh! She simply had to learn how to be less…direct. If only Snow were here— and then a light bulb went off in her head. "You know what would help?" she stepped in front of Belle to stop her pacing.

"What?"

"If we knew more about…you know, who he _was_," Emma supplied, hoping the legendary bookworm would catch her drift.

"Who he _was_?" Rose paused and then understanding dawned on her face, "you mean more about Gaston?" she whispered.

"Exactly," Emma replied. "I read a little of _their_ story this morning," she gestured over to Sean, "hoping it might give me a clue about who might have wanted to hurt him. But I didn't read anyone else's. And if this is a Storybrooke problem, rather than a fairy tale world problem—"

"Then the answers might be in another story," Rose finished for her, nodding. With sudden purpose in her step, she walked over to her chair, retrieved her coat and purse, and returned to Emma. "Where is the book now?"

"Back at Snow's," she said and gave her the address. "You sure you don't mind?"

"No, not at all. It'll actually," she gave a weak laugh and rolled her eyes, "it'll actually give me something to _do_ around here."

_My thoughts exactly, _Emma mused to herself. While it was true that Rose looking into her own story a bit more might actually reveal something useful about Gaston, the more important advantage in this plan was getting Belle _out _of the hospital, and _away _from the case. Her talking to Jack would most definitely end badly (quite possibly with another victim in the hospital, Emma shuddered to think) and would only further confuse the poor woman who didn't yet know enough about herself to be very effective in Operation Cobra. At least now, she would be with Snow, reading her _own_ story, and possibly adding more to the case.

Soon, Emma was ushering her out the door, helping with her coat and smiling in genuine support. Rose sighed, zipping up her white parka as she tucked her phone (where she'd texted herself the address) in her purse. The two women nodded at each other and Rose turned to leave. But she paused and looked back, giving the deputy a grateful smile. "Thanks, Emma," she said sincerely.

Emma nodded, slowly but surely growing accustomed to these increasingly frequent moments of sentiment, and then sent her off.

Taking a deep breath and straightening herself up, she turned the opposite direction and set out finally to find Dawn Charles. The main nurse's station said she was covering the ER today, but when Emma got there, Dawn was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, she wandered the corridors for about ten more minutes, and just as she was about to storm her way back to the station and have the nurse paged, Dawn Charles fortuitously rounded a corner right into Emma's shoulder.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" muttered Dawn as she bent to retrieve the stack of sheets she was carrying. When she stood back up, she started at the other blonde's familiar face and smiled. "Deputy Swan!" she said.

Emma rolled her eyes, "Please. It's just Emma."

Dawn nodded, insisted that she also be called by her first name, and then frowned. "So…here to check on Sean?"

"Actually, I'm more here to see you."

The nurse tilted her head to the side, curious, and then motioned for them to continue strolling down the hall. "What can I help you with?"

Emma informed the nurse of as much as she could without revealing too many names. She had a good feeling about this woman, but wasn't entirely sure without Snow or James here to confirm that she would indeed be an ally. "Dr. Whale concluded that he didn't think it likely that Sean could have made that 9-1-1 call, given the state of his injuries," Emma explained to a fascinated Dawn. "But that doesn't mean _Sean_ didn't see who _did_." She paused their little stroll and then checked around them, lowering her voice. "Was he…awake when he was first brought in? Did he maybe say anything before he blacked out that might clue us in about who did this or who called the police?"

As much as Dawn wanted to help the deputy, she frowned again and shook her head. "I'm afraid not. He was out cold by the time he was brought in."

Emma sighed, bringing her hands to her hips. "Damn."

"I'm sorry, I wish I could help," said Dawn, and then a thought occurred. "You might want to talk to the paramedics who picked him up. If Sean said anything before he fell unconscious, they might've heard it."

Emma immediately straightened up. "Great, you know who?"

And then for some reason, Dawn rolled her eyes and dropped her hands in the pockets of her scrubs. "Matt Clancy was on with his partner last night," she sighed, shaking her head. "He's part time medic, part time firefighter. You can find him at the firehouse."

Emma blinked. The firehouse? _Storybrooke has a firehouse?_ was her first, ridiculous thought. Then she immediately rolled her eyes. Of course the town has a firehouse. "Uh, thanks," she managed, mentally committing the name Matt Clancy to memory. She looked up and noticed that Dawn's smirk had not faded. Emma narrowed her gaze, "Anything…else?"

Dawn snorted out a laugh and cocked her head to the side. "Just a friendly warning?" she quipped. "Clancy hits on any girl that breathes."

…

_ "Please don't leave me," Belle whispered against the tufts of fur she had clutched in her trembling hands. "Please," she begged him. It couldn't end like this. It just couldn't. How could she have known? How could she have known that Ebonridge would be hit by one of the worst ice storms in centuries? How could she have known she'd be so delayed in returning to the castle? _

_ "Maybe…" came the beast's wheezing voice as his warm paw reached up to cup her cheek. "Maybe it's better this way," he rasped. _

_ "Shhh, don't talk like that," she consoled him. But even through the thick, coarse fur that coated his arms she could feel his pulse weakening. "You'll be all right now. We're together," she insisted, almost as if demanding that since she was back, their reunion should have reversed the magic. She swept her gaze down his massive body, and it struck her as downright ludicrous that so giant and strong a specimen could grow so weak in such a short a time. One day…she was only delayed by one day! One day more, her father had begged her. One more night in town before returning to the castle. How could she have known then? The prince had grown so kind, so understanding and gracious. She felt sure he wouldn't mind if she stayed with her father an extra night. Not when she'd pledged herself to _him _for the rest of eternity. Not when she'd already agreed that upon her return to Ebonshire, they would be married. Belle hadn't known that the extension of her trip would put the beast in such peril. How could she…when he never _told _her!_

_ "Why didn't you tell me?" she wept as she covered his hand with both of hers, clutching his palm and wrist to her heart. "I never would have stayed if I had known."_

_ "I could not…" he coughed, "I could not burden you any further." He squeezed her hand as best he could but every breath drew life, and he could feel his own slipping away. "I…I-I did not want for you to f-feel that you had to return out of…out of p-pi—"_

_ "Out of pity?" Belle cried, almost incensed. "How could you believe that? How could you ever think—"_

_ "Belle I…I'm s-sorry," he choked, straining to maintain his gaze on her to the last. "I…I love…" but at last he could hold on no longer, and darkness shrouded his soul._

_ "No!" Belle grasped both his shoulders and shook hard. "No you can't leave me! You can't!" she cried. "Please…" she collapsed unceremoniously across his chest, her shoulders shaking with violent sobs as she wept into mounds of fur. A cold, freezing rain descended over the balcony, but she remained, drenched as much by the sorrow in her heart as the icy torrent._

_ "My lady," came a small voice from just inside the west wing. It was Lumiere, Adam's faithful maître d, who looked on through bleary eyes as his beloved master took his last breaths. "Please, Belle. The master would not want you to remain in the cold."_

_ But Belle would not budge. "Why didn't he tell me, Lumiere? How could he think I would only return out of pity?"_

_ Lumiere gulped. There was anger in the midst of all the hurt in her voice – betrayal even. And he could hardly blame his mistress. He had pleaded with Prince Adam to tell the lovely beauty what was at stake if she left him, begged him to make her aware of the costs if she stayed even one more hour beyond that which she had promised. But he was adamant that she go freely, unburdened by such cruel portents. In the prince's noble mind, telling Belle that his very life depended on her return, that their souls were far too entwined for his cursed heart to survive a prolonged separation, meant saddling the woman he loved with the entire responsibility for the curse – a curse that was Circe's doing, not Belle's. If he had told her, she wouldn't have gone at all. And he wanted her to. He wanted her to enjoy the freedoms he couldn't – to be with her father, to see her friends and family in town without having to worry about him. Circe's spell was _his _damnation, not hers. And he loved her too much to allow her to sacrifice her life merely out of some foolish sense of duty or obligation. _

_This decision did not strike Lumiere as particularly logical. But he, Cogsworth and Madame Potts were bound to honor it. In truth, there was a part of his poor master that never could believe a woman would love so horrible a creature, and so he supposed that if she really did love him, she would return on the day she had promised. When that day came and went, the prince simply gave up, surrendering far too readily to the fate that now consumed him. Never mind the massive ice storm that had overtaken the whole of Ebonshire, never mind the staff's insistence that Belle would return as soon as she was able and that he must hold on until then. _Mon Dieu what a mess, _he thought, for now Adam left behind a grieving beauty who, though she had not yet admitted it aloud, had loved him very much indeed._

"_It is…custom for someone to sacrifice much in the name of duty, mistress," offered Lumiere, though he knew his words were not comforting._

"_Duty," she scoffed, still clutching Adam's hands in her own. _

"_He did not want you to feel merely obligated to the crown, responsible for his safety to the point of not even going to visit your father."_

"_And so he decided _not _to tell me what would happen?" she cried, staring down at the beast's still face. "I would have left with three _days _to spare, Lumiere. I would have returned immediately—"_

"_I know that, Mistress," Lumiere stepped out into the icy rain and laid his hand gently on her shoulder as she wept. "I…I think there was a part of him that dreaded the thought of you having to wed…a beast."_

"_He's not a beast," she mewed, shaking her head as tears seeped down her cheeks. "He's a man." She looked down, smoothing her hand down the matted fur beside his eyes. "The only man I've ever loved." Lumiere's breath hitched in his throat as his lady confirmed what he and the staff had suspected for some time now. Too late, he thought. Forever too late. Belle leaned over him once more, cradling his massive form against her breast as she wept and rocked him back and forth. "I love you," she whispered over and over again, droplets of rain mingling with the downpour of her tears. "I will always love you."_

_Suddenly, a bolt of lightning streaked across the horizon and lit up the night sky. Belle wrenched her gaze upward just as the resounding thunder clapped its echo and split the blackened clouds. Lumiere stumbled backwards, he too gazing up at the stars which broke through the storm like twinkling footprints leading up to heaven. All at once the rain seemed to stop, though Belle could still hear its pattering against the stone walls. It was as if sheets of rain were swept aside from them like curtains, leaving Belle with her beast in the center of the storm yet strangely shielded from its elements. "Lumiere?" she gasped, but the maître d had been thrown backwards and she could no longer see beyond the cone of wind and rain that surrounded her. In fear, she clutched even tighter to fistfuls of Adam's fur as she tried to make sense of the world. And then she saw it – a bright light peeking through the darkness, descending from the very top of the cone so white and dazzling it nearly blinded her on the way down. Pulsing hot and brightly against the backdrop of sleet and hail, the light expanded beyond the confines of the balcony, and with one last thundering boom, waves of magic rippled outwards, wiping all traces of the storm away in its wake. _

_Belle, who had covered her eyes in terror, now slowly peaked out from under her arm and gasped. They were still on the balcony, Adam's lifeless weight still lain heavily across her lap, but the storm was gone, the stars shone brightly, and the air smelled of roses and wildflowers. She stared at the heavens, searching the clear, warm skies for answers…and then she heard a groan. The raspy, throaty groan of the prince…alive in her arms. Belle's eyes darted down and she shrieked in utter shock as she beheld not a beast…but a man. "Adam!" she cried, shifting out from beneath him as he slowly came to. _

_Adam stiffened his arms against the cobbled terrace, pushing himself off the ground and twisting around to face her, coming at last to his knees as he slowly lifted his tired gaze to her gorgeous eyes. "Belle?" he coughed, blinking awake. Only then did he did he too note the changes; his voice was significantly higher than it had been, and with a gasp he clutched his neck, crying out as he felt not the coarse, gnarled mane of the creature, but skin. Human skin. "Belle!" he said with a watery laugh. He broke into a wide, almost schoolboy grin as he patted his hands all over his neck, his arms, his face. "It's…it's me!"_

_Belle reached forward, capturing his beautiful face between her hands, searching those two blue starlit irises that gazed at her. "It _is _you," she cried in relief, pressing her forehead against his. And before she could take another breath, he was kissing her._

_There was nothing hesitant or searching in his kiss. He hauled her straight up to her knees and crushed her to his chest, sealing his lips over hers with the possessive force of a man who had spent far too long resisting and restraining himself against the passion he'd come to feel for her. Again and again he kissed her, the very feel of her lips against his seeming miraculous as for years his mouth had been plagued by the beast's hideous fangs. His hands explored her body, roaming around her waist, up her back, in her hair, cupping her nape. And they were his _hands _not claws. His own flesh. What a wonder it was to be back in his own skin, and how fitting that it was to have Belle wrapped in its warmth._

_Her arms came instantly around his neck as she fought for dominance of the kiss, relishing in how alive she felt, how desperately she needed to touch him, to feel the beating of his heart in sync with her own. "Adam," she murmured against his cheek as he rained kisses down her jawline, at the corners of her eyes, her forehead. She tunneled her fingers through his hair, pulling his head down to her as he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her, assuring them both that he was real and indeed, alive._

_Only when Lumiere awkwardly (though amusedly) cleared his throat behind them did either soul become aware of the rest of the world and slowly return to earth. Adam pulled away, holding her now at arms' length and taking in every inch of her beauty. "How?" was all he could ask as his gaze swept over her loveliness._

"_I don't know," Belle laughed as she clasped his hands in her own. She felt herself blush as he stared at her, finally able to see clearly his own transformed visage. The old paintings she'd come across in the west wing didn't do Prince Adam justice. He was beyond handsome. He was majestic: strong angular features, slender face, long locks of blonde hair breezing behind him. But in the end, Belle was inevitably drawn back to his eyes, for his eyes were the same. And she knew right then, for as long as she lived, whatever trials they might still face down the road, she would _never _forget his eyes. _

"_If I may, master," Lumiere cleared his throat again and the two finally looked up at him. "I believe _he _may have some answers," he said, looking past them. _

_At once, Belle and Adam turned and were startled to find a man standing – no, not standing…_floating _just beyond the balcony. "Who are you?" the prince demanded at once as Belle helped him struggle to his feet. The man was effervescence personified, sunlight seeming to stream through every pore to the point where Belle wondered how they could have only just noticed him. He was as bright as the sun, robed in shimmering folds of white and gold that draped his entire body. He seemed to have unfurled from the very fabric of nature and was suspended before them with a joyous, though slightly mischievous, look on his face. _

"_I mean you no harm," he held his hands out, nodding to both of them. His voice echoed in the night sky, though with how bright he was, it seemed to be day._

"_Who _are _you?" Adam asked again, in his voice a faint echo of the beast's growl. His grip tightened around Belle's waist as if he would never again let her go._

"_I am Helios," said the sun spirit with another bow of his head._

_Belle gasped. "Helios!" she cried. From infancy, children had heard tales of this particular mage proclaimed throughout all the realms. Ancient texts hailed him as a god, and indeed his powers were thought to be god-like. In fact, many believed that Helios was solely responsible for driving the first wave of goblins out of their realm many centuries before Adam and his generals fought their descendants. However, though he appeared quite clearly before her now, Belle had trouble trusting in her own eyes. Helios was part of a forgotten age, an age of sorcery and wizardry long lost to them. As mankind prospered and flourished throughout the three realms, the days when men and women wielded magic of such magnitude had faded into legend. Then again…the transformation and resurrection of Adam she'd just witnessed had been pretty damn powerful. "Have we you_ _to thank?" she stepped forward, bringing Adam with her. "Did _you_ do this?"_

"_No my dear," replied the ancient sorcerer. "_You _did this."_

_Belle glanced back at Adam, whose wary gaze was still fixed on the floating man that had interrupted their reunion. Belle squeezed his hand and then turned back to the mage. "Me?"_

"_Yes Belle," he replied. "My magic does not touch this earth anymore. My kind has long since moved beyond your realms."_

"_Then why are you here?" the prince demanded. He had had enough sorcery for ten lifetimes. So regardless of intentions, he did not trust Helios._

"_I am merely a messenger, Your Highness," he replied, then looked back to Belle. "What transpired here this evening is no trivial feat. It is not every day that a mortal being defeats one of Circe's unbreakable curses." _

"_Circe!" Adam yelled, stepping in front of Belle and holding her back from the suspended mage. "What do you know of her? Is she here?"_

"_No, milord," Helios said calmly, not at all phased by the prince's temper. After all, the man had every right to be incensed by the very name of his tormenter. "But she is the reason I appear to you now. Circe has been on this earth far longer than most realize. She and I were once at war, having sent her champion and his men purposely into my realm, the island of Thrinacia, under the pretense of seeking shelter. They betrayed my trust and scourged my land without ever having been aware of the war they were precipitating. I killed her champion that day," he paused and looked straight at Adam, "and she has been trying to find one to replace him ever since."_

_Belle didn't at all like how _that _sounded. "What are you saying? That Circe has marked Adam as her new champion?" she asked, holding tightly to her true love's arm._

"_That is correct," Helios said frankly. "And now that he has overcome her deadliest of curses, she may come back to claim him."_

"_She is welcome to try," spoke Adam, his eyes like daggers aimed at the mage._

"_A worthy challenge, my friend," the sorcerer nearly chuckled, "and I daresay your victory today will leave you with some distinct advantages over her…charms. But I do not come merely to warn after your own safety."_

"_Why do you come at all?" Adam growled, starting to advance forward but Belle tightened her grip and pulled him back. _

"_A gesture of good will," he said, pressing his palms together as if in prayer. "Our removal from this realm does not preclude our interest in its well-being. There are a great many of us, when the opportunity arises, who have ventured back to help or deliver forewarning of evils to come." He turned to Belle. "The magic you have wielded here today drew me to you and opened the door between our worlds so that I may deliver this message."_

"_What message?" asked Adam._

"_What _magic?_" Belle insisted, stepping out from the prince's well-intentioned but thoroughly unnecessary protective stance._

"_Why…true love, my dear," Helios answered as if solving a simple matter of arithmetic. "Love powerful enough to defeat Circe's magic is a love that transcends the hot passions of untempered youth. It is love that is pure. Love that Circe craves."_

"_What are you saying?" demanded the prince. "Circe is after Belle?"_

"_No," said Helios, "No, women do not interest her. But Belle's love for you is the final proof of your power."_

"_I have no power!"_

"_I think you will find that you do. And in the eyes of Circe, your power is unparalleled. You were able to make a woman love you despite your hideous appearance. The goodness in your soul therefore dictates—"_

"_I didn't _make _her do anything!" Adam yelled and once again stepped forward, as if ready to take on the mighty mage with his bare hands. But Belle stopped him for a second time, her presence a calming influence on the echoes of beast in his temper._

"_Of course not," the sorcerer replied. "But this world is governed by perception. And when Circe learns of the man who finally conquered her curse, she will stop at nothing to harness that power. Power she is convinced…will lead her back to us."_

"_So she aims to recapture me?" Adam scoffed._

_But Helios shook his head. "You have pledged yourself to this woman. Her spells will not work on a man whose heart is already claimed," Helios gestured graciously to Belle, "and Circe is confined to Thrinacia, what you now call Bierden Ridge. Her dominion extends only as far as the goblins she controls. But if she were ever to escape the ancient spells that hold her there, if she were ever set free, she would stop at nothing to reclaim the power she sought to find in you when she enacted her curse." Belle drew a sharp breath as Adam clenched his fists together. "Therefore, I come to warn you, as those of my time are wont to do when we are moved by such goodness." Helios smiled warmly at the pair of them despite the mixture of anger and concern in their faces. "Be on your guard. Circe may yet one day prevail…and she is very…very…patient." And with that, the sorcerer drew the folds of his robes around himself, spun in an impressive spiral of dancing light, and was gone._

_The couple stood there in awe, staring into the open night sky while their eyes adjusted once more to the twilight. Helios' effect on the weather, however, seemed to hold, for the wind was as peaceful and breezy as a spring evening. Silence pervaded the balcony, and Lumiere, who had been joined by Monsieur Cogsworth and Madame Potts about halfway through the mage's visit, merely stood slack-jawed and worried about what Helios foretold._

"_What did he mean by that?" Adam finally turned to his beloved, "'She's very very patient?'"_

_Belle shook her head, still glaring out on the darkened horizon. "He means we must always be on our guard," she whispered quietly. "And not only for us," she gulped and then finally looked to her prince, "but for our children." In her youth, Belle had read enough of the ancient legends and tales to acquaint her with the likes of characters like Circe. It was a tale as old as time: An enchantress like Circe is practically immortal. If she could not have Adam…she would take his son._

"_Belle—"_

"_It means we can't ever have children—"_

"_Belle listen to me—"_

"_Gods, Adam. Do you think he could be right?"_

"_Look at me," he commanded again, and this time she obeyed. Adam drew the back of his hand down her cheek and tucked a tendril of her chocolate brown hair behind her ear. Gods, she was beautiful. Even in so anguished a state, she was beautiful. "Whether he's right or not, I have no idea. All I know for certain," he took her hands in his, closing his fingers around hers and holding them to his chest, "all I'm sure of…is my love for you."_

_She gazed once more into his deep blue eyes and smiled. _

"_And he can pontificate to his heart's content about what _may _happen if Circe ever escapes. It won't change the fact that we've already defeated her."_

"_Yes but that won't—"_

"_That _you _defeated her," Adam amended, drawing her hands up around his neck and then trailing his own down the length of her arms and around her back. "Your love didn't just transform me, Belle," he rasped, pulling her close and locking his grip at her waist. "You brought me back from the dead."_

_Belle shivered in his arms, the magnitude of all that had transpired here tonight finally hitting her for the first time. He was right. Somehow, some way, their love had done the impossible. And the warmth in his eyes, the passion in his touch was enough to drive away the fears stirred by their mystic visitor…at least for now._

_Adam dipped his head down to hers and kissed her, only this time his lips were gentle and soft against her own. Absently, he was aware that his staff withdrew from the balcony, granting them some degree of privacy for which he was appreciative. He meant to shower them with praise and commendations when the time was right, for they had borne more than their share of his burden through the years, striving to keep him sane, to achieve some semblance of normalcy and humanity in his darkest hours. Lumiere especially had grown to be much more than a simple valet. He was a true friend and confidant and deserved recognition as such…but not now. _

_Now, his entire world was Belle. Decorum and modesty be damned. He drew his mouth over hers again and again, sipping from her lips, giving as much as he took as she melted into his embrace. When finally he drew breath and pulled back from her, she nearly swooned, her eyes hazy and unfocused. "Belle?" he murmured, brushing the tip of one finger down her face._

"_Hmm?"_

_He chuckled and gave her a gentle shake, lifting her gaze to his own. After all, what he had to say demanded her full attention._

_She looked up and smiled, pulled back to reality from the euphoria of his kisses. _

_He held her gaze for a moment more and then descended to the ground, falling on one knee before her. He looked up and moonlight seemed to glow around her as he took her hands once more in his. "When I asked you before, I was a monster. Now I kneel before you as a man. But I have loved you as both." _

_Belle's breath caught in her throat and she gasped, wondering why she was suddenly nervous. After all, she'd already said yes!_

_He pressed kisses to the backs of her hands and then gave her a tender squeeze. "Belle…will you be my wife?"_

_Tears spilled freely down her cheeks and she too fell to her knees. Gently, she withdrew her hands from his grasp and reached up to cup his face. "To me, you have always been a man," she said with a joyful sob. "And I will always love that man…as my husband and dearest friend." _

_His heart soaring, Adam drew her back into his arms, affirming their vow to the heavens with a kiss, almost daring the fates to tempt them again. For though he knew the warnings foretold by Helios must be heeded, Adam had no doubt that their love would always prevail._

Rose slowly closed the storybook on the image of Belle and her prince embracing in the moonlight atop their west wing balcony. With everything going on, she didn't think there was anything left that could surprise her, but this certainly shocked the living daylights out of the poor bookworm. Her story wasn't just your average fairy tale. It was practically a Grecian epic, a melding together of every legend, hero, and villain archetypes ever conceived. And to think she'd come over simply to see what she could discover about Gaston! She never dreamed the depths her story would reach (and how inconsequential to it all Gaston turned out to be…he was practically a footnote compared to the likes of Adam the war hero or Helios the sorcerer). How in the world was Rose French supposed to live up to this paradigm of folklore? She could barely balance her checkbook!

"Are you ok?" Snow asked, sitting patiently beside her at 'Miss Blanchard's' kitchen island. Slowly, the kind schoolteacher slid a steaming cup of cocoa across the counter which Rose snatched up almost involuntarily. She took a generous sip, gulping down the near scalding drink. She glanced at Snow who flashed her a knowing look. Rose set the cup down, peered over its rim and then looked up. "Cinnamon?" she asked.

"Hope you don't mind," said Snow, taking a sip from her own mug. "It's a…family favorite."

Rose nodded and then looked back at the book. "Got anything stronger?"

Snow chuckled. "Not with that baby on the way," she shook her head. "Otherwise I would've brought out the Kahlua."

Rose gave her friend a grateful smile. "Thanks," she murmured, "for…letting me see it."

"Oh please," Snow waved her hand dismissively. "As far as I'm concerned, this book is for anyone on the side of good in this world to see. And you and Adam are definitely _that_."

But the compliment, Rose felt, was undeserved and she winced at the praise. "I'm not so sure about that," she mumbled.

"What?" Snow cried, sliding the book in front of her. "How do you figure?"

Rose looked down, smoothing her hand over her tender belly still settling down from her trip to the hospital today. "Have you forgotten…who the father of this baby is?"

"Rose," Snow covered Belle's hand and squeezed. "We've all made mistakes here—"

"Don't say that," Rose withdrew her hand and slid off the stool. "This wasn't a mistake. Don't give me that much credit."

"Rose—"

"I knew exactly what I was doing," she continued, not wanting to hear any more excuses made on her behalf. Curse or no curse, she'd caved to the purely lustful desires of a desperate woman, so lonely and isolated from the rest of the world that she willingly slept with a man she couldn't even stand…and who really never treated her well even after the fact. "Have _you _read that story?" she whirled around, pointing at the book. "Can you imagine this…this Prince Adam ever falling in love with someone like me?"

"Belle _is _you," Snow argued.

Rose scoffed. "She _looks _like me, sure," she said. "But I'm _not _her. I'm not nearly that strong, Snow. I can hardly stand up to my jerk boss, let alone a…a god!"

"You _did _stand up to him though," Snow reached forward and grasped her wrist. "You kicked him out of your house!"

"Yeah," Rose shrugged herself free. "Another brilliant decision. Kicked the father of my child out of my life."

Snow gulped, still wrestling (as she had been since Rose had arrived and asked to see the book) with whether to share what many of them now hoped was true about Belle's pregnancy. It wasn't a _huge _stretch to believe that Belle might have gotten pregnant just before the curse hit, and that only when Emma arrived and time restarted had it begun to progress again. Still, Rose seemed to have regressed back into this self-loathing phase of hers this afternoon, most likely as a result of having seen her friend so badly beaten, not to mention Emma's intimations that Jack might have had something to do with it. "Look," Snow said, deciding not to expound upon the baby's questionable lineage at the moment, "whether you like it or not, the man in that book is the same man you saw in the psych ward. The man who, according to you, knows _exactly _who you are, which means he's been awake in the curse from the very beginning."

Rose cringed, unable to even imagine how awful it must be to be living with this information for 28 years. She just found out _yesterday _and she was barely coping.

"So he's not going to care what happened between you and Jack," Snow clasped her hands up around her arms, "and he's not gonna care what 'bad choices' you think you've made. He's just gonna care…about you."

Rose shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut and trying not to completely lose it in Mary Margaret's kitchen. "How could he possibly still want me after…this?" she clutched her hands tightly to her stomach.

But Snow refused to let her give up. "You _wanted _him when he was still a _beast_," she gave her friend a gentle shake. "And he wants you forever."

Rose sniffled back the waterworks and looked up. "I hope you're right," she whispered. "Or tomorrow night's gonna be a real disaster."

"Are you kidding me?" Snow smiled, wiping away the tear that had escaped and trickled down her own cheek. "Tomorrow night…is gonna be epic."

…

Mitchell Herman wasn't sure how long he stood outside the little house on Barbarac Lane. It could have been an hour in that freezing cold for all he knew, for he just couldn't bring himself to go any further. In reality, it was more like ten minutes, but taking the final steps up to the front door seemed a Herculean task before him, and it wasn't until he heard the ominous howling of a wolf in the distance that he snapped out of his nerves and trudged up the small stoop to ring the bell.

It was another long wait before she answered, and when she finally pulled open the door, Mitchell wished it had been longer still. Ashley was a complete wreck and the stricken expression on her face said in no uncertain terms that he was not at all welcome. Mitchell cupped his fist over his mouth and coughed, the cold air puffing out and then dissipating into the night air. "Ashley," he said solemnly.

Ashley's eyes narrowed into tight little beads, glaring at him as he had retreated one step down. The _nerve _of this man, she thought vehemently. "Mr. Herman," she glowered.

Mitchell drew a sharp breath at the open hostility in her voice, and his blood began to boil as it always did the moment Ashley Boyd opened her mouth. There it was again, that unmistakable anger he felt around her without really understanding why. Surely it couldn't just be about Sean's attack, for he felt this way every time she was close.

This time would be different though, he vowed to himself. This time he had a small shoebox secured under his arm and an errand from a wise old man to ground him. He sucked in a breath, determined not to succumb to that inexplicable instinct telling him to lash out. Not tonight. Not this time. He must get past this. It was time for this feud to end. "May I come in?" he asked quietly, his voice dissipating in the night's wind.

Ashley wrapped her arms around her middle, steeling herself against the cold. She still couldn't make heads or tails of what had happened to her last night at the hospital, but of one thing she was absolutely certain: Mitchell Herman was the last person she wanted to see. "Why?" she said darkly, "so you can tell me _again_ just how much I've ruined Sean's life? Or to remind me that you don't want my daughter anywhere _near_ her father?"

Her acerbic tone was painful to stomach, but entirely deserved. "You have every right to be upset," he gulped, holding tightly to the gift under his arm. That feeling was still there, but as he continued to resist it, he started to feel other things too: namely remorse, regret…and hope. "Please, I won't stay long, just…hear me out."

Ashley stared at him, giving the matter serious thought. In truth, it wasn't just anger she felt, it was also fear. Fear that what happened at the hospital might happen again. Fear that these flashes, these strange visions she kept having would again be witnessed by a man who still, inexplicably, held such power over her. But the cold beckoned them inside, and in the end she relented, stepping back from the entrance and allowing him in her home.

Despite all that was left to be said, Mitchell sighed with relief. He was inside at least. It was a start.

"How is he?" she asked as she started back towards her kitchen then halted and whirled around, "he's not—" she cried.

But Mitchell immediately held his hands up and reassured her. "He's the same," he answered quickly. "No change."

Ashley blew out a sigh, cursing the tears that immediately welled in her eyes as her momentary panic subsided. It had only just occurred that Mitchell might be here to …deliver bad news. Thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case. Shaking a little, she resumed her retreat to the stove.

Only then he Mitchell notice she had a white cloth over her shoulder, and over the tiny pass-through, he could see she'd begun warming a bottle. He took the opportunity to run his gaze over the rest of the tiny house, pausing every now and then to sadly regard this or that pile of stuff cluttering the very small space. The living room, if it could be called that, had barely enough seating for one, as it was overrun by baby clothes, changing supplies, and what he assumed was Alexandra's playpen shoved between the couch and TV. The dining room table was adorned with stacks of mail, bills, some of Sean's work clothes and assorted piles of laundry. So small, he thought regretfully. And yet, how clear a testament this place was to their fierce dedication to 'making it work.' Despite what he knew the clutter represented of Mitchell's own refusal to support them, a touch of pride swelled in his heart for Sean…and Ashley.

"So why _are _you here?" Ashley asked as she wiped her hands on the cloth and then draped it back over her shoulder. She was leaning against the archway of the kitchen, arms crossed.

Mitchell took a deep breath, removed the box from under his arm and placed it on the table. "I came to…" he paused, his hand still on the ribbon. Should he give it to her now? It was a hard thing to gage given that it wasn't even his gift, and he still wasn't sure what it meant to them. Sighing, he withdrew from the box, deciding to leave it for now, and looked back up at the girl. "I wanted to…apologize."

Ashley's expression did not change, though slowly she unfolded her arms, letting them hang by her sides.

Mitchell gestured toward the easy chair that sat along the inner wall of the living room just beyond the kitchen. "Please," he motioned for her to sit.

She hesitated, regarding him very carefully before at last relenting.

Mitchell took another deep breath and pressed his hands together. "I suppose I don't have to tell you," he started, "that children…are everything."

Ashley gulped. No…he certainly didn't have to tell her that.

"When Sean's mother passed away, he was…well…we were all each other had." His breath caught as he thought of Mazie; his late wife's face was somehow so clear in his mind despite how hazy the rest of his past seemed to be.

"I know," Ashley said quietly.

He started. "You do?"

"Sean told me about her. About the three of you," she offered, finally allowing herself to believe this visit might not end as disastrously as every other conversation they had.

Mitchell looked down. "Yes…well," he muttered. "That was a long time ago, and when she died I devoted everything I had to Sean. I wanted—" he glanced up, "—only the best for my son."

Ashley sucked in a breath, rising at once from the chair and returning to the kitchen. "And I'm not _that_," she hissed, mistaking his implication.

"No!" Mitchell insisted, following her this time to the kitchen. "No, that's not it at all."

Ashley's eyes darted sideways at him from beneath her brow as she removed the bottle from the little pan on the stove and snapped off the burner. She started to move past him, but he stopped her in the hallway.

"Ashley," he said, determined that she heed him. "I wanted everything for Sean. The best schools, the best career…the best shot he had at getting _out _of this town."

She looked down, remembering her own conversation with Sean on that subject…_A_ _full ride Sean?...I would've supported you. We could've gone with you…_

"I was so focused," Mitchell continued. "So _obsessed _with Sean having his best chance," he paused and looked right into her eyes, "I never saw…I didn't _want _to see…that he already had it."

The girl's eyes were brimming, and the bottle nearly slipped from her grasp as she dared once more to believe what she just heard. "Mr. Herman," she whispered.

But Mitchell wasn't finished. "When Sean came and told me he wasn't taking that scholarship, when he told me he was staying in Storybrooke to raise," he glanced up at the heavens, searching for relief from his shame, "to raise your baby…God help me, Ashley I blamed you."

Ashley looked away, her eyes wet and bleary. She knew _that _part already.

"And the more we argued," he continued, gently drawing her gaze back to him, "the more convinced I was that I was losing my son. I never stopped to realize…that I could be gaining a daughter."

_Too much, _Ashley wept, too overwhelmed for words. It was just too much to take, and not at all fair that Sean wasn't here to hear it. "I never wanted to…" she sniffled, letting the tears seep down her cheeks, "to take him away from you."

"You didn't," Mitchell rested his hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze, and the contact startled them both. There was something very familiar in this fatherly gesture. Something he'd not felt since…

"We only ever wanted…to be a family," she managed between sobs, and then as if on cue, Alexandra stirred from the bedroom door behind them. Slightly flustered, Ashley darted her gaze between Mitchell and the door, not at all wanting to allow the interruption. But her baby girl grew quickly restless, seeming to sense that her mother had a bottle all ready and waiting for her, and her fussing turned into all out wailing within seconds. Mitchell smiled and shook his head, stepping back and gesturing down the hallway.

"It's ok," he said and actually chuckled. "Go."

"Just," she held out her hand, "just wait right there."

Mitchell gulped hard, waiting back in the living room as he listened to sounds of her quieting the child…his granddaughter. A part of him hoped Ashley would just soothe her back to sleep; he wasn't quite sure what he would do if actually confronted with –

Ashley re-emerged from the bedroom with Alexandra swaddled in her arms. The sight literally took his breath away, for he found he could not breathe as Ashley carried over this perfect little girl. Mitchell had seen the child before, of course. From a distance. How desperately then did he wish he could know her. How desperately now did he want to shrink away in disgrace.

"Alexandra," Ashley cooed to her baby in a watery voice. "This is Mitchell," she looked up, holding her out to him, "your grandfather."

"No," Mitchell immediately shook his head, staying his arms out in front of him as he stumbled a few steps back. "No dear, that's…that's ok, really." How could he? How could he ever be worthy of holding the child he'd worked so hard to take away from them?

"Please," she insisted. "Sean _wants _you to know her."

The little girl cooed and wriggled around in her blanket, laughing obliviously to the emotion in the room. And perhaps it was the pure joy radiating from the babe that eventually broke down Mitchell's last defenses as he stepped forward and gently scooped the child up in his arms.

For a moment, neither adult said a word. The only sounds were of Alex's continued gurgling as she curled herself quite comfortably against her grandfather's chest. "Alexandra," Mitchell whispered at last, too much in awe to cry. Supporting her firmly with his left arm, he brought his other hand up to touch her tiny head, soft and splotched already with a healthy mop of blonde hair. Sean's hair had been blonde when he was young. So had Mazie's. "Ashley, she's beautiful," he said. And then the little girl reached up and closed her tiny hands around Mitchell's finger –

"_The winter solstice was your mother's favorite, Thomas…"_

Mitchell gasped as the world flashed white around him. 

"_We have never missed a festival since she passed…"_

"Mitchell?" Ashley cried, swooping in at once and taking Alexandra back from the man who now staggered about her carpet. "Mitchell what is it?" She clutched Alex close to her breast, shielding her daughter from the strange fit her would-be-father-in-law seemed to be having.

"Ashley?" he spluttered, finally looking up at her—

_ "Your Majesty…I'm afraid I've made a terrible mistake…"_

"Mitchell what's wrong!" she lunged forward, hoping to help catch him as he fell against the closet door.

"No!" he said, holding her at bay before he dropped his head in his palm and cried out in pain. "What's…what's happening—" and suddenly an image of Rodmilla flashed before his mind, clothed in a blood red cloak and gold beads.

_"Lady Tremaine, explain yourself!"_

_"Ah…a…a-a woman would do p-practically anything for the love of a daughter your Majesty," the foul lady stammered._

_ "And that includes _beating_ her?"_

_ "Well…well Sire, you…you and I both know that you can never love someone else's child the way you love your own."_

_ "Guards!"_

"Ashley I…I can't…" he shook his head, straining to focus on something real, something concrete. But every time he opened his eyes he was flooded with images from two different worlds. A bassinet in a crowded living room, yes…but also a ball room, with ethereal music heralding from the upper balcony as the reception carried on below –

_"My dear Ella…we're thrilled to have you join our family. And I hope our family will soon be growing!"_

_ My dear Ella…_

_ …join our family…_

_ …our family…_

_ …soon be growing…_

Alexandra let out a tired wail, seeming now to sense the sudden tension in the room and she sobbed against Ashley's chest, trying to wriggle her way out her grasp. Ashley had backed away against the edge of the couch as she watched Mitchell cower in horror near the front entrance of their tiny home. He hunched over, wheezing, rasping as he muttered to himself. Incoherent ramblings she could not understand.

"Ella," whispered Christopher as he gasped for breath. "My dear Ella…" he glanced up wearily, the searing pain in his head subsiding as his eyes finally came back into focus and saw his beautiful daughter-in-law trembling with fright. "Ella!" he cried more forcefully, and rose to his feet. The curse. The curse was broken. He was free from his prison. Thomas's lovely bride and his beautiful granddaughter had awoken the king.

"Don't!" cried Ashley, now seriously freaked out, for Mitchell was staring at her through the eyes of an entirely different person. And why was he calling her—

"Ella don't be afraid," Christopher coaxed. "It's all right, I won't hurt you." Oh what a joy it was to see her again. To be free from the spell that held his heart and soul in an icy cage. "Please," he said, slowly approaching her.

"Stay back!" she cried, slipping off the end of the couch and backing into the easy chair.

Memories clashed and bounced off the walls of Christopher's mind as he slowly stitched together the pieces of his cruel journey. The curse – Queen Regina's curse they had all been dreading: Prince James had warned him that it would destroy all happy endings, that it would strip them all of what they loved. Christopher remembered thinking at the time that a dark curse had already claimed his son. How much more could this one take from him? Now of course, it was all too clear. "Ella, I'm so sorry," he said, though he knew she couldn't possibly understand what he meant. That day, that awful day they'd informed him of Rumpelstiltskin's curse, had been the last time he'd ever seen Thomas. And though he'd tried to be understanding and forgiving upon her return to Seven Gales, a dark part of him couldn't help the resentment, the grief he felt every time he looked at her. He'd taken that resentment with him into the curse…and it had prevented their reconciliation ever since. "So sorry," he mumbled again, though it hardly made up for all the hateful things he now remembered himself saying as Mitchell Herman.

"Stop saying that!" Ashley cried. "What the hell is going on?"

Christopher now shook his head, thinking maybe she just needed a bit more time. "Try to think," he urged. "Try to remember, Ella."

"Why are you calling me that? What is going _on_?" she practically yelled, hunched over her daughter, protecting her from this strange development. Was Mitchell Herman going crazy? _Crazy…_ she thought suddenly…_Sheriff…remove this woman at once…she's obviously unstable…_

The persistent fear in her gaze started to trouble him. Why wasn't she waking up? Why hadn't their reconciliation been the key to unlocking Ella from Ashley's mind? Why— his eyes darted suddenly to the shoebox on the dining room table. Of course, he thought. He understood now. He understood everything. His son was a genius.

In seconds, Christopher strode across the room, plucking the box off the table and bringing it over to her. "Ashley," he said patiently, reverting to the name she knew. "I know you're really confused right now, but I promise I won't hurt you. Here," he said hastily, and held the gift out to her. "These are from Thom—" he stopped himself. "Sean."

But Ashley hadn't missed the slip. She glared at the man, wondering now if this were all some elaborate trick (though to what end she couldn't imagine). He'd started to say Thomas. Was he mocking her? Was he trying to get _her _to say it again? To prove she really _was _unstable and—

"Please," Christopher implored her.

Ashley looked deep into his eyes, scrutinizing every detail of his expression, but at last found no trace of malevolence or deceit. In fact, it was the first and only time she thought she could actually detect real feeling in his voice. Finally, though still skeptical, she set Alexandra down gently in the playpen, turned to him, and accepted the gift.

"Open it," he said gently, gesturing for her to sit back in the easy chair.

Without knowing why, Ashley complied, sinking down to the worn cushions of the beat up recliner and slid the ribbon from the box. Then, pausing to glance up at Mitchell once more, she lifted the lid and gasped. Lain quite lovingly in a bed of light blue tissue paper were two perfectly crafted slippers…made of glass. "Oh my," she said wonderingly, closing her hand around one of them and lifting it delicately from the box. "It's…it's…"

"It's yours," he said with a broad smile, remembering quite clearly the look on his son's face when he and Ella burst through the doors of Christopher's master suite, returned from his three day quest to find his mystery maiden. _A perfect fit! _he'd proclaimed, holding one of the original glass slippers high in one hand while the other was clasped in Ella's. _I found her Pop!_

Christopher crouched down before her and held out his hand. "May I?" he asked and gently took the slipper from her hands. He knew he was a poor substitute; he wished that Thomas could be here. But at the same time, he felt a force guiding him, a sense that all was exactly as it should be.

Too stunned to move, Ashley allowed Mitchell to remove her one moccasin and then ease her foot into the slipper. A perfect fit of course (legend demanded nothing less). Ashley gazed down at the slipper in awe…and then a strange force seemed to throw her backwards and she reeled back into the chair. Visions that had earlier only been faint echoes now flared before her eyes in a wild tangle of forms and colors.

"_I don't have that right, your Majesty. Because of me, both your son and grandchild are in terrible danger…"_

_ "You saw how cruel they were towards her, Pop…You know what she lived through…" _

_ "Ella…What did you promise him?..."_

_ "Our baby…"_

"Ella?"

_ "Save it for the honeymoon your highness…"_

"Ella can you hear me?"

_ "As long as I'm alive…you will _never _go back to that life…"_

"Ella open your eyes!"

"_My dear Ella…we're thrilled to have you join our family...join our family…_

_ …join our family…_

In one last explosion of images, her eyes flew open…and Ella looked breathlessly at the king. Christopher's hands were clasped tightly around her arms, holding her steady against the wave of memories crashing into the walls of her brain. She was panting, holding tightly to him for support. When at last she caught her breath, she drew back from the king, registered the fatherly affection in his eyes, and started to weep. "Oh your Majesty," she cried, collapsing to the floor. "I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm so so sorry."

Alexandra's crying in the background echoed her own as Ella's last days in Christopher's palace came rushing back to her. How many times had she tried to summon the strength to confront him, to fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness for what happened to his son?

But the king required no such confessions or pleas. There was nothing to forgive. There was never anything to forgive really, except his own stubborn avoidance of their pain in the wake of Thomas's disappearance. "Ella look at me," he said softly, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze. "It's over now…all of it."

"I should never have made that deal, never tried to go back on the contract—"

"My dear that was almost _thirty _years ago," he gave a hearty laugh at the realization, still somewhat baffled by how the events of their old world can seem so recent and at the same time so much a part of the past. "It's over now, the curse, the contract, everything."

Ella blinked a few times, still getting her bearings. She remembered everything as Ashley of course but the final moments she spent alone in her bedchamber, watching the dark clouds of the queen's curse infect the land, were still so fresh in her mind. "I…I know, your Majesty, I…I just—"

But the king shook his head, squeezing her hand as he pulled both of them to their feet. "Please Ella," he grinned. "Call me Christopher."

…

**DISCLAIMER: **Lines from this chapter are from sources of varying mediums of literature and art:

_Ever After_ – "A woman would do practically anything for the love of a daughter, your majesty"

_Into the Woods – _"You can never love someone else's child the way you love your own"

Paul Laurence Dunbar's "Life's Tragedy" – "Hot passions of untempered youth"

Homer's _The Odyssey_ – characters of Circe and Helios and the allusion to the "Cattle of the Sun God"

_Beauty and the Beast_ – "a tale as old as time"

*****Thanks go out to Fruitality, sgcycle, hfce, The Pris, Rebecca and all my regulars who are constantly pushing me to do more and take this story to the next level. Thanks also to all the newcomers for increased readership and support! "Toll Bridge" is so much fun to write and I am so enjoying being able to share it! **

**Much more to come, obviously. Stay tuned for more on Dawn Charles, Shane Pilfer, and Matt Clancy, as well as a return to SOMEONE's favorite villain…yeah, you know who you are. **

**Take care for now!*** **


	29. Citizen Shane

DISCLAIMER: I do not dare presume to own the rights to ABC's or Disney's hit characters from _Once Upon a Time_. I'm borrowing them purely for our own enjoyment and thank them from the bottom of my heart for providing such awesome inspiration.

In the Shadow of the Toll Bridge

Citizen Shane

_"You took away our happy endings. Now it's our turn to take yours!" cried Emma as her fingers tightened the already deadly grip she had of Regina's neck. No, thought the queen. No no no it _can't_ end like this. But there was no mistaking the blonde woman's intent. The rage pulsing through her fingers was without mercy, made even more menacing by the sight of Prince James and Snow White standing proudly behind her. Regina watched in terror as the woman stepped back, turned to the prince and took from him a long golden shining sword. No! she wanted to cry out. No it can't be! But before the words could reach her lips, Emma Swan raised the sword over her head, fire dancing in her eyes, and slashed down—_

"NO!" the mayor wrenched herself awake, utterly drenched with sweat. Her hands came to her neck and she gasped, almost as if she could still feel Emma's iron-clad grip around it.

"Wha-what is it, whatsa matter?" came a groggy voice beside her.

Regina rolled her eyes and looked over. Gods, why was he such a light sleeper? "Nothing," she snapped. "I'm fine, go back to sleep."

But in the time it took her to dismiss his concern, the sheriff came fully awake, propped himself up on his elbows and stared down at her. "Regina you were screaming."

"I told you, I'm fine," she seethed for there was nothing she loathed more than to appear weak, particular in front of one of her own pawns. "Now either go back to sleep or just go," she said. In his eyes she registered a bit of resentment, hurt even, and Regina gulped back another vicious retort. Cursing to herself, she shook her head and leaned back into him, resting her hand atop his bare chest and adopting a more soothing tone. "I'm sorry, Graham," she purred. "I…I just…haven't been sleeping well."

Graham crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. "So I've noticed."

"Please, I didn't mean to snap," she crooned. She'd been careful with Graham the past two nights. Masking memories made in Storybrooke was a tricky task, and concealing from Graham the entirety of Ava and Nicolas Zimmer's incarceration at the Lost Boys' home as well as his _own _temporary imprisonment had cost them too much magic already. It wouldn't do to have him resenting her treatment of him and driving him into the arms of a certain blonde coworker. Still, she was never one for sweet-nothings and endearments…not since Daniel. And she was too distracted to play nice. The dream she'd just had was no fluke. It was a warning.

She was just thinking of a slightly nicer, subtler way of suggesting that he depart when the sheriff himself decided it was time to go. "I've got an early day tomorrow anyway," he grunted as he threw the covers off himself, bent down to retrieve his boxers and pants and shrugged on his clothing. "Gotta see Jade Pilfer about her ex-husband."

Regina's head darted up. "What?"

Graham threw his shirt on and started working on the buttons. "Shane Pilfer? The bloke I busted for gambling a few years back?"

"Yes yes, I know who he is. What about him?" Regina waved his hand impatiently, interest piqued enough to distract her from her own troubles.

"He…_might _be a suspect in the Sean Herman case," Graham was saying as he shoved his feet into his shoes. Regina tried not to appear too pleased by this news as her sheriff continued. "Gotta see if Jade has any idea where he is. Try to bring him in."

Regina's eyes narrowed. "Haven't you given that boy enough benefit of the doubt by now?" She tried not to sound too reproachful, but the huntsman had been down this road before with Agrabah's unlikely prince consort. The street rat's regression to his old life of crime had been beautifully orchestrated by the curse and had kept Jafar relatively content with the status quo all these years. But for some reason, Graham had consistently cut him slack, pressing lesser charges, letting him off easy. That show of faith had actually delayed (quite a few times) Jasmine's giving up on him and had on more than one occasion postponed her going through with the divorce and seeking comfort in Jafar's manipulative arms. Because Graham wouldn't give up on 'Shane', 'Jade' and 'Shane' wouldn't give up each other. It was the first time Regina had had to intervene where her puppet sheriff was concerned (honestly, of all the huntsmen in the world, she _had_ to go and pick one with just about the clearest conscience in all the realms).

Graham eyed her incredulously but didn't respond, so she pushed him further. "In fact, from what I hear, Shane went off the deep end once his wife left him. Who named his as a suspect?"

Again, Graham hesitated. He had the distinct sense suddenly that he shouldn't be sharing any of this, an instinct telling him to shut his mouth, that the more she knew the worse off they'd all be. But as she glared at him, searching, probing his mind, he felt compelled to answer and in the end decided not to question it. She _was _the mayor after all.

"Jack Hunter," he said matter-of-factly as he pulled on his pants and looped up his belt.

Regina's eyes bugged out. _Jack Hunter, _she thought with renewed interest. Circe's newest pawn. Well well, this could be good. "Isn't that Sean's boss?"

Graham nodded.

She leaned her arms back on the bed, smiling smugly. "Well then I'd call that more than '_might_' be a suspect. Jack Hunter cares a great deal for Sean – gave him that job when Mitchell kicked him out of—"

Graham fisted his hand and punched the mattress. "You don't think Shane Pilfer is any more capable of beating up Sean than I do! And of all the trouble he _has _gotten himself into, I'd hate to see him go down for something he _didn't _do."

Regina jolted forward, crossing her arms. "Well maybe if he'd actually _gotten _in trouble for all those other things, _this _thing wouldn't have happened." She knew she shouldn't provoke him, but she couldn't resist the bite in her voice as she said it. Graham gritted his teeth, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. "Just make sure you do this one by the book, got it?" She glared him down, all the threats behind her warning crystal clear.

Graham thought about arguing, but something prevented him. _Someday_, he thought sadly. Someday he might actually figure out why it was he could never stand up to her. "See y'around Regina," he muttered and was gone.

She watched him leave and then gave the door a satisfied nod as she laid back down on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. It seemed that whatever Circe and Jafar had cooked up together had certainly pointed Graham in the right direction. She wasn't quite sure how it would solve the problem of Adam, but if Prince Thomas's attack and probable handicap was the cake, assault and battery charges against Aladdin would be the icing. And given the fight that she heard had transpired between Ella and Christopher, it seemed less and less likely that Rodmilla would have anything more to complain about in the morning (not that that would _stop _her of course).

This news should have been enough to lull her back to sleep, but as substantial as each development was in getting things back to normal in Storybrooke, these events were trivial compared to the dream she'd just had and the feeling that something was once again amiss with 'David Nolan' and 'Mary Margaret.' Her trampy little stepdaughter certainly looked ill enough upon witnessing David and Kathryn's nauseating display at Collodi's, but Regina couldn't quite shake the sense that it had all been a rather well-rehearsed display for her benefit. After all, there was still that little matter of Emma Swan telling her that Kathryn and David were planning on starting a family only to have it contradicted by Kathryn herself the very next day. And then for plan B to fail as well – to have implanted the idea that David and Mary were having an affair only to have him and Kathryn joyously reunited without so much as a blemish on Mary Margaret's reputation – it all seemed a little too convenient. And just what were _all_ those people doing at Collodi's anyway? Why it looked like a regular assemblage of James's old war council (minus the cricket and the wolf), and Regina could not let it stand without an explanation.

She would be able to keep a close watch on James tomorrow of course – with his and Archie's award presentation – but the prince was getting very good and skirting surveillance from her various eyes and ears about town (things were _so _much easier when he was in a _coma!_). She couldn't be watching everybody 100% of the time – she couldn't risk using the mirrors in this world. Not without threatening the curse.

However she acted, she must do so carefully: If she was wrong and revealed her suspicions without being completely sure, the mere mentioning of the curse might jostle something in an otherwise oblivious David Nolan. If she was right but unprepared to defend herself, the prince might very well take her head off in the middle of Main Street by the light of a Christmas tree. And then of course there was the matter of Emma Swan and how she fit into all of this. Why were _her_ hands around her neck in the dream? Why was it _she_ who wielded the sword?

Yes, she needed more information – information that would most likely come at a price. But she could put it off no longer. She hadn't gone to him yet, partially because she simply hadn't wanted it confirmed. If he was awake, she was doomed. If he was aware, she was in danger. She had given him power here yes, wealth and prominence in town as he had requested, but if he somehow found a way around the curse _without _a happy ending, there was no telling how _much_ power he wielded or what exactly his own personal agenda in this world might be. Still, to date, he was the only person in town who seemed to know a thing or two about this mysterious Emma Swan and how exactly she was connected to the curse. Regina had her own – frightful – suspicions of course. But she would hear them tomorrow from the man himself. She would hear them from Rumpelstiltskin.

…

When Snow walked into Granny's that morning over an hour earlier than her typical 7:15 coffee time, it was with more than a little trepidation that she approached the counter. So much of what happened tonight depended on how well things went this morning, and she was more than aware that she was banking a lot on chance.

He came here every morning at 6:00. It was part of Joe Whale's daily routine, a routine that also involved a rather rigorous workout regimen of which he'd boasted endlessly. There was much Snow wanted to forget about her one pitiful date as Mary Margaret, but in retrospect she was certainly glad that Joe had asked her out. The information he'd unknowingly offered gave her the perfect opportunity to put the plan into motion…if she could finagle it just right.

It was the part of the plan she deliberately _hadn't _gone into too much detail about at Collodi's the day before. Not that she didn't trust James, but she preferred not giving her prince something _else _to worry about on top of the rescue itself, the tree lighting, and Emma's search for the Zimmers (not to mention everything happening with Thomas). So she decided the degree of flirtation she knew this part would require wasn't something with which James need bother himself. Joe Whale had been…well, less than subtle back at the hospital, and she could tell the doctor, for whatever reason, had renewed his interest in her. At first, it was an annoyance, but after her lunch with Belle, Snow quickly realized she could use that interest to her advantage; she just had to plant the seed first. It was all playacting of course, and she supposed she needn't feel self-conscious about it. It was no different than what James had had to do with Abigail before she woke up. Still…she didn't have to like it.

So at 6:00 instead of 7:15, Snow parked alongside the diner, fumbled her crutches into position and trudged up the front stoop to Granny's. She shivered as she neared the entrance, pulling her scarf up tightly around her neck. The forecast had been predicting flurries for days, but Snow wondered if tonight Mother Earth might actually deliver. With a heavy tug, she yanked open the door and quickly scanned the room. There he was, seated at a booth in the far corner, nursing a cup of coffee with the _Daily Mirror _in hand. Snow took a deep breath, squeezed tightly to the two handles of her crutches and then thunked them loudly across the floor, making a big show of how difficult it was for her to move to a table.

Joe Whale looked up immediately as Mary Margaret struggled across the diner. As soon as he spotted her, he set his mug down with a clunk and slid out of the booth. "Mary Margaret!" he called, waving his hand over his head and gesturing for her to join him. He thought about moving to help her, but really how do you help a person on crutches? Plus, he had a feeling based on her behavior at the hospital, that his advances might be less than welcome. If he were to succeed with this particular conquest, he was going to have to be subtler than that. So far it was a good sign that she'd flashed him a small grin and started over to his booth.

"What brings _you _here so early?" he asked as he gestured for her to slide on the other side.

"Oh, you know," Snow frowned, laying her crutches against the back of the seat and scooting herself in, "didn't sleep much last night. Got a bit restless."

Joe nodded, taking a sip from his mug as he sat back down. "Starting your day early then?"

"Something like that."

There was a brief pause and then the doctor did a double take and looked toward the counter. "Here, let me get you something. Marie!" he called toward the back room.

Just then, Snow winced and hissed loudly, clutching her leg down by her cast and making a big show of pain and discomfort.

Joe's gaze darted back to her. "What is it? Are you ok?"

Snow squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. "Oh I'm sure it's nothing."

"Mary Margaret," he said scornfully.

Again she frowned. "Well, it's just that I've been having a lot of pain in my calf. More so than even my ankle."

Joe glanced down beneath the table top and then up again. "Have you been keeping off the leg like I told you? Using the crutches?"

Snow hesitated, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip before she looked up and flashed him another coy half-grin.

Joe took the bait immediately and flashed her an equally flirtatious smirk. "Mary," he shook a finger toward her in mock condescension. "You've been _walking _on that cast haven't you?"

Snow rolled her eyes and gestured to the crutches behind her. "They're just so _uncomfortable, _Joe. And I can't manage a classroom full of fifth graders if I have to use those things."

Whale slapped both his palms on the table and leaned forward. "You're back at _school _already?"

"Of course I am. They gave my classes to the _gym _teacher," she added with a light chuckle.

Joe let his head fall into his palm as he shook his head. "Well that would be why you're in pain."

With a sigh and a shrug, she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. "Well that's why I'm gonna call Dr. Stone today. See if maybe I can get in to see him this evening."

Joe had just picked up his mug again and was about to take a sip when Mary's comment fully registered. "Stone?" he halted, mid-lift. "Tobias Stone?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

Critically, he set back down his cup. "Stone's a surgeon. Why would you go in and see _him_?"

Snow noted the hint of jealousy in the man's voice and, despite her aversion to willful deception, felt a tiny thrill thrum in her chest. It was working. "Oh, well you know Rose French from the other day?" she asked innocently.

"Yeah," he said tightly and scowled. Of course he knew Rose French. In fact, _that _whole ridiculous business with Mo French was what had drawn him to this new feisty version of Mary Margaret Blanchard in the first place. Still, he didn't like to be reminded of the schoolteacher's reprimand nor the blustering bravado of "Saint Tobias's" much preferred bedside manner.

Snow pretended not to notice Whale's prickling reaction to the name and continued. "Well, she just had _nothing _but praise for the man after he took over her father's case. So I thought I'd just—"

"Mary Margaret," Whale instinctively reached for her hand across the table and glared into her eyes. What _was _it about this woman? Was it a game? Was she toying with him? Had she truly forgotten their verbal duel over the diagnosis of Rose's father, or was she deliberately opting for the doctor whose second opinion she'd demanded to hear that day in order to make him jealous now? If so…it was working, for the ER doc's blood was boiling with that bothersome mixture of irritation and desire that he'd first felt upon their quarrel.

Snow glanced down at his hand clasped over her wrist and then back up, gazing at him with an artfully crafted mien of innocence and curiosity.

"Stone is," Joe swallowed thickly, "a…_very _competent surgeon. But _I'm _the one who's the most familiar with your case. I'm the one who treated you, remember?" he eyed her carefully, looking for some kind of reaction. "Why don't you let me take a look at it?"

Snow drew back from him, wide-eyed and surprised. "Oh Joe, I meant no offense," she insisted, though she still pulled her hand away. "I just figured it'd be easier to get in to see Stone since he works nights." She looked back at her phone and made a point of dialing. "I have no time on school days to get in any earlier and I wouldn't _dream _of asking you to miss the festival tonight."

Again, Joe reached forward and covered her hand, stopping her from dialing any further. "Miss Blanchard, it would be my pleasure."

Snow glanced up, legitimately startled now, for the doctor's eyes reflected genuine concern and a wish to help. _Dammit,_ she thought guiltily. If only she knew for _sure _that his alter-ego was as duplicitous as he seemed. Then she wouldn't have to feel bad. "Are you sure?" she asked timidly, returning her phone to her purse.

"Absolutely. What time?"

Snow took a deep breath. "6:30," she said almost too quickly.

Joe drew back with a devilish smile and a wink. "6:30 it is."

And with that, the voice of Snow's grandson rang clear in her head: "Mission accomplished!"

Having successfully hooked a naive Dr. Whale into the plan, Mary Margaret continued to make pleasant small talk until it was time for him to leave. As she did so, she was amazed by how calm she felt, how natural this was. Why, wasn't it only a few weeks ago that 'Mary Margaret' had been sitting in this very diner, blubbering and blustering all over her pie, making gaffe after gaffe about topics in which Whale was not the least bit interested? How could she have spent 28 years as such a meek-minded, simpering little homebody?

About an hour later, long after Joe had left for his scheduled shift at the hospital, Snow was still sitting in her booth, trying to enjoy a leisurely breakfast whilst attempting to shift her frustration with her alter ego back to the queen. Mostly, she wanted to calm her nerves, knowing how hectic tonight would be and wanting to preserve as much energy as possible. But in truth, she was also hoping to get a glimpse of Ella before she had to leave for school. Other than having followed her home after that horrid confrontation at the hospital, Snow hadn't been able to even share two words of grief with her dear friend for what she must be going through. It was likely Ella wasn't actually working today, but Snow had nowhere else to be right now and wanted to at least see if she could gage the state of things concerning 'Ashley' and 'Mitchell.'

It was close to 7:15, her usual time, when the door dinged open and the young blonde breezed through the door. She had Alex in tow of course, cradled in that super adaptable car seat of hers with a baby bag slung over her shoulder. Snow watched patiently from the distance as 'Ashley' called out to Granny; the latter woman came at once, receiving the little bundle of joy with care and taking her to the back room. Snow watched that little girl until she was clear out of sight, thinking instantly of the night she'd watched her…seen James holding her…felt that emptiness once again from all they'd missed with Emma. In fact, she was so intensely focused on the baby, she hadn't immediately noticed Ashley… staring right at her.

Startled from her trance, Snow perked up and waved from her booth. Ella stalked over at once, and it was then that Snow finally noticed the subtle change in her eyes: Blue and twinkling (she certainly didn't _seem_ like a girl whose fiancé was lying unconscious in the hospital). And unless Snow was mistaken, this was the face of a girl on a mission, a girl with all the gumption and soul and hope that Snow remembered – a girl…named _Ella._

Ella reached the raven-haired princess in about three strides, knowing instantly by her gaze that she was right. All morning, she'd gone over and over in her head the events of the past few weeks: From Emma Swan's arrival at the hospital to what was at the time a very strange visit from Storybrooke's resident 5th grade English teacher, she could now view every memory in the proper context. Emma Swan had somehow managed to save her from _Rumpelstiltskin_, not Mr. Gold, and'Mary Margaret Blanchard' had _not_ been making a random house call on poor waitress 'Ashley'; _Snow White_ had been visiting one of her dearest friends. "Mary Margaret!" she said brightly, her face flushed and eager. "How _are _you?" and without even being asked, she plopped down across the booth, folded her hands on the table and hunched her shoulders down over her arms. "Or should I say…Snow White?" she winked.

Snow gaped and just about burst with excitement, reaching across the table at once and squeezing both Ella's hands in her own. "Ella?" she whispered fiercely. "How did you—when—"

"Oh my goodness!" said the girl quite loudly, so much so that Granny's few scattered patrons turned to see what the problem was. Snow glanced back at her, puzzled but Ella was staring strangely at her cast. "We have to get some ice on that immediately. Come on, we've got some in the back."

Catching on, Snow allowed herself to be ushered into the back room where Ella intended them to be able to speak freely. Both ladies kept darting knowing glances at each other to the point where Snow almost forgot Ella's improvised cue that she need to act pained in order for their exit to seem plausible to Marie. "Granny, can you watch the front for a second?" Ella asked the old woman as she emerged from the makeshift day care suite.

"Oh dear, what happened?" Granny looked down at once, trying to see if maybe the cast had cracked.

"It's swelling a bit, Granny," Snow complied easily with Ella's ruse and covered the area right above the top edge of the cast.

"Well be sure you get that checked out. Don' wanna mess with broken bones," Marie replied and with that left the two women alone.

As soon as they were inside, Ella shut the door and proceeded to squeal with Snow for about 90 seconds flat as they embraced like the sisters they'd always imagined being. Baby Alex, curious as ever, pushed herself up on her stomach and popped her head out of the crib to inspect her silly mom. Oddly enough, their momentary lapse into high-pitched girliness did not seem to bother the little babe one bit, so she settled herself right back to sleep.

"Ella, my Gods! What happened?" Snow cried as they settled on the edge of the hotel bed across from Alex's crib. "The last time I saw you was that awful night you came back from the hospital! When did you—"

"Last night," Ella said hurriedly. "Christopher paid me a visit."

"Christopher!"

She nodded. "I almost didn't believe it at first, but there he was."

"And that's what made you wake up?"

Ella smiled, the entire blessed night replaying itself in her mind. "Not exactly," she said and then explained. She related the most important parts to Snow: Christopher's apology, his holding Alex for the first time, the glass slipper.

When she was finished, Snow was almost in tears, grinning so wide her cheeks hurt. "Oh Ella," she reached forward and embraced her friend again. "That's so wonderful!"

"And I knew," Ella continued, beaming as she pulled away from her friend, though keeping their hands locked together, "as soon as _I_ was awake I knew _you_ had to be. Oh Snow, I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you before."

"Oh please," Snow chuckled, waving her off. "How could you?" She glanced over at Ella's beautiful daughter and sighed. "I wondered if Christopher was the key. I mean with Thomas already awake," she turned back to her friend, "I was pretty sure he had to be the last piece of the puzzle."

Ella was nodding vigorously. "I'm so glad James told Christopher about Regina's threat. As soon as we woke up, we knew what must have happened. Did you know that my stepmotherhas been whispering in Christopher's ear this whole time? Convincing him not to reconcile with us?"

Snow squeezed her hands tightly, a combination of support and shared anger. "No, but that doesn't surprise me."

"And _your _stepmother actually helped him file a _restraining_ order against me?" she added. "Well…against 'Ashley' anyway."

The older princess slid her eyes shut, trying not to give into the anger that bubbled beneath the surface of this otherwise blissful euphoria. It was too joyous an occasion, Ella and Christopher waking up, to be spoiled by more resentment and bitterness toward the queen. Still, she couldn't quite help her gut reaction of rage…followed by guilt. "Oh Ella, I'm so sorry."

Ella reeled back. "For what?"

She shrugged. "For…just for everything."

Ella sighed, took a deep breath, and closed her hands gently around Snow's again. "I _know _how much you blame yourself for…_her_." Snow started to interrupt, but Ella sliced her other hand through the air and stopped her. "But you are _not _responsible for her ok? She chose her own path just as _we_ chose ours."

Snow regarded her gratefully, smiled and then rolled her eyes. "You sound like James."

"Well I _should_," she laughed outright, throwing her head back and thinking of Snow's excellent husband. "All those pep talks he gave me in the mines."

Snow laughed as well. "James does like his pep talks." The two giggled and snickered like schoolgirls. Laughing together again, Snow realized, felt like home. She could almost smell the delicious aroma of Ella's famous mincemeat pies cooking in the oven, the scent of pine needles wafting through the air as they decorated a small Christmas tree in that wooded cabin they'd hid in together. Both runaways and, for a time, all each other had, Snow and Ella had a history that went back almost as far as her past with Regina, a past that no longer seemed quite so long ago. Eventually though, Snow's laughter died down and she leveled her gaze. "So…what's next? Where is Christopher now?"

Ella withdrew from the bed and went over to the crib, patting her sleeping daughter on the head. "He's going back to the hospital today to stay with Thomas."

Snow hobbled behind her, joining her at the crib. "And you?" she asked quietly.

The blonde sighed. "For now, we're going to play along with Rodmilla and Regina's scheming. If they both think that 'Mitchell' succeeded in keeping me away—"

"Then they'll back off," Snow said resentfully, hating the truth of the statement but knowing it was the smartest plan right now. Still, it didn't seem right that Ella couldn't be with her beloved Thomas after finally awakening. Snow stared at the empty space between the bars of the crib as an idea formed in her head, one that was just the right level of crazy. A slow thin smile spread across her face.

Ella stood waiting and watching as the gears in her friend's head spun round. She knew _that _look, that look she got whenever Snow came up with an idea that made Ella feel both incredibly excited…and just a little bit panicked. "What?" she asked, losing her patience.

The clock on the square suddenly chimed 7:45 and Snow turned her head sharply toward the window. _Damn!_ she thought. She was going to be late for school.

"Snow?"

She turned back. "Ella, meet me on the square at about 3:00," she said, hastily moving to retrieve her crutches. She paused at the door, gave her friend another quick hug, and then pulled back. "I have an idea."

…

After talking with Dawn at the hospital, Emma had almost headed right to the firehouse to search out Matt Clancy and his partner yesterday. She couldn't explain it, but she felt strangely like she was on the right path. Henry was getting off from school though, and she wanted to get some time in with him before Regina appeared to whisk him away to therapy. And when that was followed by a call from her mother, filling her in on all that had transpired with Belle at the house, Emma decided to call it a day and went home to talk shop with Snow.

So it wasn't until the next morning that Emma arrived at Storybrooke's firehouse: the rather run-down building that stood about a mile away from the town square right next to Storybrooke's post office. She supposed she'd had some preconceived notion of what a firehouse should look like since Dawn had mentioned it: brick building, two stories, big spacious garage with big red fire trucks, guys walking around in black rubber boots letting their mascot Dalmatian drink from a hose, and of course a sliding pole. This building, however, was only one story – no pole. And it was mostly concrete with space enough for only a small truck and one ambulance rig. The garage space was cramped with tools and equipment hung along the walls, a small office with a window, and a tiny kitchen and break room in the corner.

Letting the heavy steel door seal off the cold behind her, Emma could hear bustling and clattering from that break space. Taking a deep breath, she skirted passed the trucks and over to the room where she discovered two men beating forks and spoons against the metal countertops of their small kitchen. There were only two of them but they were making enough noise for an entire drum corps. Neither of them noticed Emma at first, so she just stared. Both of them, dressed in identical navy blue shirts and bulky black work pants, were fairly tall in stature. In fact, Emma had to blink a few times because they looked so much alike: 6'2", brown hair, and built like your average hefty…hunky fireman. One of them had his hair buzzed to a crisp, military cut while the other had longer, wavy hair swept back and a tad unruly. Watching them, she couldn't help but laugh as Wavy-Hair alternated the beat between two metal pots on the stove while Crew-Cut jammed away on the very edge of the counter. Eventually, her presence was felt and Wavy-Hair turned first, blushed instantly, and then smacked Crew-Cut on the arm.

"Davis!" he shouted. "Davis!"

The clattering stopped and Crew-Cut turned as well.

The first man turned back to Emma and flashed her a winning grin. "Sorry 'bout that Miss…" he stuck out his hand and stepped forward.

"Swan," said Emma. "Emma Swan."

He clearly recognized the name for his eyes widened and his grip tightened. "Deputy Swan, of course!" he said. "Our local hero."

Emma furrowed her brow. "Excuse me?"

"Forbidden forest? Kidnapped schoolteacher? Heroic rescue?" he reminded her jovially.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Oh…right," she muttered.

The two of them stared at each other, still clasping hands though no longer shaking. His gaze was so intense, it was hard to look away. _He'll hit on any girl that breathes, _she reminded herself, and finally, she drew back as he plopped his hands in his pockets and gave her an appraising look. "Been meaning to stop by the station and introduce myself ever since I read that article—"he started.

"Oh he has not," laughed Davis as he stepped forward. "Don't believe a word this guy says, ma'am. He doesn't actually _read_. He looks at pictures," he joked, shaking Emma's hand. "The name's Trent. Trent Davis. And this is Matt Clancy, my idiot partner."

Emma smiled as the three of them shared nods of introduction and recognition. "Nice to meet you," she said, glad to be in the right place.

"Feeling's mutual, Deputy," Matt winked and gestured for her to be seated at the tiny round table as Trent moved to the fridge.

"Can we get you anything Miss Swan?" he asked, reaching in to grab a bottle of Sunny-D.

"Please, it's just Emma," she waved them off, shaking her head as she took a seat. "I'm actually just here to ask a few questions."

Trent slammed the fridge behind him and took a swig of juice. "Great, what'd you do this time Clancy?"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Oh lay off—"

"Gentlemen," Emma insisted, trying not to let their levity hinder the investigation (though privately she had to admit she could probably watch these two men banter all day and not get bored). She gestured for both to be seated. "Please?" They shared a grin and then sat down obediently. "Thank you," she sighed, folding her hands together atop the table. "A nurse at the hospital told me it was you two who brought in Sean Herman the other night?"

At the mention of the name, both smiles instantly faded. "That's right," said Matt, the humor in his voice fading as well.

The shift in mood was so abrupt, Emma gulped. She supposed part time firefighters/ part time paramedics in a town frozen in time probably hadn't seen a whole lot of serious action before she'd arrived (a quite comical image of Trent and Matt valiantly saving cats from trees came to mind). So the attack on Sean Herman was probably the most violent scene they'd ever been summoned to. "Well," she cleared her throat. "We're trying to track down the person responsible. I need to know if you saw or heard anything that might help."

Trent glanced at Matt and then back again. An uncomfortable silence fell between them before Trent finally spoke up. "We uh, told the sheriff everything yesterday. There was no one there but Sean when we drove up," he said.

"Yeah, no attacker," said Matt. He looked again at his partner and then added, "No attacker and no Samaritan."

Emma started. "Samaritan?"

"Matt," Trent warned.

"What?" he turned abruptly, and Emma got the impression that the two men were suddenly picking up an argument right where they'd left off. "I'm telling you, _someone _saved Sean's life that night, and it wasn't _us_."

Emma leaned forward, impressed by Matt's humility. "What do you mean?"

Matt leveled a serious gaze at her, so penetrating that her heart skipped a beat. "There's no way Sean made that call himself with those injuries."

"Right," Emma said. "The doctors at the hospital agreed."

"Yeah but you heard the sheriff," said Trent who then turned to Emma. "Graham suggested the call may have been made by the assailant. Like…a kind of last minute sense of remorse."

Emma cocked an eyebrow, but didn't respond. _Graham _suggested that, huh? Is that so?

Matt, noting Emma's reaction, cast Trent a sideways look. "That's why you're still a rookie, Davis," he joked but kept one eye trained on the deputy.

Emma glanced at Matt. "I take it you don't agree?"

His face grew so grave it gave Emma goose-bumps. "That kid was beaten within an inch of his life. Whoever did it felt _no _remorse," he said, fists clenched. "And," he turned back to Trent, "like I said, you didn't _hear _the 911 call."

Emma straightened up in her seat. "_You _did?" she asked Matt.

He nodded. "It's a small town, Deputy. The dispatch office is right in there with the chief's." He pointed at the wall the other side of which, Emma knew, stood the office. "Amy was on break when the call came in," he added. "So I took it."

"What makes you so sure the guy who called _isn't _our suspect?"

Matt grew abruptly silent as he glanced back at his partner.

Trent could only shrug, holding his hands up in the air. "It's up to you, man."

"_What's _up to you?" Emma demanded, now glaring at him in panic, for swimming in Matt's deep, gray eyes were doubt, confusion…and a little touch of the 'Storybrooke haze.'

"Mr. Clancy," she said softly, reaching forward and touching his hand. The contact startled them both, and Emma felt like the very air around them was charged. "Tell me."

Matt's eyes stayed locked on hers. For whatever reason, he felt strangely drawn to her, more so than he could ever remember feeling with a woman. At her touch, he felt sure he could trust her. "I knew him," he said quietly.

She reeled back. "You _knew _the caller?" she cried. At last, a break in this case! Quite possibly even a credible witness who might put Jack Hunter at the scene of the crime. "Who was he? What's his name?"

"I…" again he hesitated, glaring between Emma and Trent. "I…I don't know. That's the part—" another sideways glance at Trent— "that doesn't make any sense. I don't have a name. I don't know _how _I know him, but I recognized his voice. And somehow I…I just knew. I _knew _he must have saved Sean."

The revelation hung in the air between the three of them with Trent darting looks between the others' staring contest. Emma took a deep breath, trying to temper and mask her disappointment by focusing on this new, equally crucial piece of information. It wasn't the break she'd been hoping for, but she understood the significance of Matt's story even more than he did himself. _I don't know how I know him…I just knew. _Definitely the beginnings of a rift in the queen's curse. Suddenly she wished one of her parents were here, or Henry for that matter. Sitting before her was someone important from fairy tale world. Someone _good_. She was sure of it. But she had no clue who he could be.

"Look, you can believe me or not," he huffed suddenly, mistaking her silence for skepticism. "I know what I heard, and—"

"I believe you," she said quickly.

He and Trent both looked up. "You do?" they said together.

She chuckled. "Yeah, I…I can't tell you how many times I've felt the same way since coming here. Like I know something…without really getting why." She glanced over at Trent who was now eyeing her very differently. "It happens a lot around here."

There was another long pause, Trent glancing once again between them before finally clearing his throat. "Umm, I'm gonna go check with Chief on that run, Clancy." He stood up, quickly excused himself, and left the room.

"I-I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Emma stammered, watching Crew-Cut leave.

"Nah," Matt gave her a wave, leaning back in his seat as that initial easy-going demeanor she'd first observed of him slowly returned. "That's just Trent for ya. To be honest, I think he thinks I'm a little nuts," he went on, balancing his chair now on its two back legs.

"He doesn't believe you?" she asked, turning back to the table.

"Hell, I don't even know why _you _believe me," he grinned and then leaned in a bit closer. "But I'm sure glad you do."

_Hits on any girl that breathes, hits on any girl that breathes…_ "Yeah, well," she mumbled, drawing back from him, wondering what the hell had come over her and trying to get herself back on track. "There are lots of things in this world we can't really explain. Doesn't make 'em any less real."

Matt looked to where Trent had disappeared. "That's what _I _told him."

She cleared her throat. "Well, if you think of anything else," she said, "if you remember a name or can tell me anything more about the caller—Oh!" she cried, remembering where she'd been going with this visit to begin with. "I almost forgot. Nurse Charles said that when Sean came in, he was unconscious?"

"That's right."

"Was he still awake when _you_ first found him?"

Matt glanced at the ceiling. "Barely," he recalled. "He was muttering pretty incoherently. I think he...I think he mentioned a girl."

"Ashley?" she asked.

"No."

"Ella," she amended without thinking.

Matt eyed her curiously, then frowned. "No...no it wasn't Ella either. Actually it sounded a lot like…Shanna? Shayna?"

Emma turned pale. "Shayna?"

"Yeah, I think. I assumed it was a girlfriend or something—"

"Could it have been '_Shane_?'" she asked.

His eyes darted down, and something clicked in his head. "Shane! Yeah that was it. 'Find Shane' I think he said."

"Son of a bitch," Emma cried, jumping up from the table. "Uh, I have to go."

"Umm…" Matt stood up too, stepping back and allowing her to bustle passed him. "Ok? What's umm, what's wrong—"

"I just…have to …check on something," she fumbled, pushing in her chair. _Find Shane,_ she thought. What did that mean? Why would Sean have said that? Could that asshole Jack have been telling the truth after all? _Find Shane _as in 'he's the one who did this'? Or maybe…_ "I knew he must have saved Sean"_…could Shane be Matt's mysterious good Samaritan? "Thanks for your help, Mr. Clancy," she said, pausing beneath the archway.

"'Matt'," he insisted, moving forward to shake her hand again. "My pleasure, Deputy."

Ignoring the now incredibly irritating fluster of nerves at his touch, Emma gave him a terse nod and then hurried out of the station.

…

Trent watched through the office window as Deputy Swan sped out the door, Matt staring dumbly after her. It never failed when a pretty face walked into the room. She was wrapped around Clancy's finger in an instant. Today was slightly different of course; Matt typically hit on nurses and waitresses, not deputies. But the end result was the same. In fact, it was even more ridiculous than usual.

It wasn't that Trent didn't like his partner. So far their relationship had been pretty solid. And he could even believe in this strange sixth sense thing he had going with the Sean Herman case. It was an incredibly intense night for both of them and it certainly helped to _believe _there had been someone looking out for that poor kid. But for Emma to instantly believe him like that? To completely buy into it, no questions asked?

He chuckled and shook his head as Matt wandered by to start his equipment check. What was it about his partner that made him so god damn magnetic, thought Trent, unable to prevent that little bit of envy from creeping up on him every time he saw Matt work his magic on the ladies. It was the strangest feeling really. He'd only been a rookie for…well, he couldn't quite remember, but it hadn't been long. So why did he feel as if he'd been in Matt Clancy's shadow for his entire life?

…

As crass and indelicate as Jack Hunter had tried to be, his gossip yesterday was not news to Graham. The sheriff had also heard it on the grapevine that Jade Pilfer had been spending her evenings with Storybrooke General's Head of Psychiatry, Doctor Fisk. When her father's senility got worse, Jade had no choice but to have him committed to full time care. Fisk had management of the case, and once she and Shane…separated…Jade had apparently found some degree of solace in the older man's company. Still, Graham hadn't expected to find her doing the walk of shame and was dismayed to pull up to her driveway and see her dragging herself out of her car, clearly dressed in evening wear, trudging up to her door at 8:00 in the morning.

"Jade," he called up to her.

Jade whirled around from the mailbox, spotted the sheriff, and then rolled her eyes up at the sky, shaking her head at the heavens.

"I just need a few minutes," Graham explained, heading up the walkway.

"Well, I don't have a few minutes," she snapped, thrusting her mail under her arm and fumbling in her purse for her keys. "I have to get to work." She marched up the front steps of her little house and was in the process of keying inside.

"Well if you 'ad return'd my calls yesterday," he half joked. By this point, Graham had reached her stoop and held his hand out to stop her. "Jade," he implored. "Please."

Jade didn't look up; she merely paused, glancing at the sheriff's hand clamped down on her wrist, and sighed. "I can't help you," she said quietly, her voice not nearly as biting.

"I just need to know where 'e is."

She darted her head up. "I don't _know _where he is, ok? He left _me,_ remember?"

Graham frowned, hating the hurt look in the woman's emerald eyes. How often had he seen that look before? How much did he hate to see it reprised now? "I know, but—"

"Look, I know it's a lot easierfor everyone to believe _I'm _the one who walked away, but _you _know that's not true_,_" she spluttered, turning her key and shoving open her front door. She stepped up into her living room and spun around. "_He _walked out on _me_, all right? So whatever mess he's gotten himself into, I can't help you."

She was about to swing the door closed, but Graham was not giving up. He stuck his hand out and stopped the door, demanding her attention. "Jade," he rasped, dropping into a slightly desperate tone. He hated having to 'do the sheriff thing' and wanted to avoid it if at all possible. "You know I wouldn've come if I 'ad any other choice," he conceded, knowing how hard it was for Jade Pilfer to revisit her past.

Jade and Shane had been together ever since they were in high school. In the old days, Shane called Jade his anchor. She was the only positive influence in his life and for years kept him from going down the same road as his jailbird dad. She helped him study for the GED, helped him get a job, even supported them both while he interned at ENCOM Security. They married young, and her father certainly wasn't happy about it, but they were so much in love it was hard not to root for them. Then, a few years ago – Graham couldn't quite remember exactly how many; that part was a bit hazy– Shane got word that his dad had disappeared. Clive Pilfer went missing, so Shane went looking for him. Jade even supported him at first, and together they tried all the, well, _legitimate_ ways of searching for him. But Shane got swept up by too many of Clive's associates in the process, and things were never the same between him and his wife. When he'd come home, if he came home at all, he was distant, secretive. Jade could tell he was into something deep and couldn't get out, but Shane would not let her help.

Later it was revealed that Clive owed untold thousands to a few loan sharks deep in West End. Shane always had an affinity for poker and started up a regular game down near the docks to help pay off the debt. But what began as an escape route for his father grew into an addiction. Eventually, he stopped coming home to Jade altogether. Months after being abandoned and a couple dozen 'second chances, Jade finally filed for divorce. Graham had been trying to keep Shane out of trouble ever since, despite protestations from Mayor Mills, but if there was _any _truth to what Jack Hunter had told them, he wouldn't be able to look the other way again.

Jade heaved a sigh and pinched the ridge of her nose. Knowing she was going to relent sooner or later, she opted for sooner so they could at least come in from the cold. Wordlessly, she beckoned the sheriff inside, plopped her purse down on her coffee table and turned. "What'd he do this time?" she asked as Graham closed the door behind him.

"Maybe nothing?" he said, then frowned. "And maybe he attacked Mitchell Herman's son outside of Garcon's Bar the other night."

Jade's eyebrows flew up. "What?" she cried.

"Like I said, it might be nothing," Graham said quickly, holding up his hand.

"Shane would _never_—"

"I agree, but that's why I need to find him _now_," he stepped further into the room. Better it be him than Regina herself, who too often took matters into her own hands when she was unsatisfied with his work. He truly wished he hadn't said anything last night but he'd been too groggy to filter himself. "The sooner I figure out exactly how he's involved," he told Jade, "the more likely I'll be able to put the _real_ chap away."

Jade turned from the sheriff, walking over to the mantle on which still sat a framed photograph from her wedding. She'd taken everything else down but could not bring herself to pack that frame. The picture had been taken by a friend of hers right after a guest had bumped Shane's elbow and spilled red wine all over his tux. The pair of them had laughed and howled for minutes on end, their eyes sparkling in the hilarity that had ensued. It had been such a simple affair, their wedding – close friends and family clustered together in Storybrooke's measly party center behind the high school. But they were so happy they might as well have been getting hitched at the Taj Mahal. Gingerly, she ran her finger along the edge of the frame, looking into Shane's deep, penetrating eyes, and sighed. "He…called me up once. Asked me to meet him."

"Where?" Graham stepped over to the mantle at once, gripping the other end.

"I didn't go," she clarified.

"That's ok, just tell me where," he touched her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Jade," he said, "It's a start."

...

The square was certainly bustling with activity by mid-afternoon, vendors arriving left and right, carting their goods into Bridgeport's Emporium to prepare for the tree-lighting festivities. Mr. Bridgeport himself was standing right outside his main entrance, staring up at the two men who had arrived from Collodi's garage to finish decorating the tree. There was something very menacing in the man's glare, and though he did not look familiar, James felt he was certainly someone to watch out for. All morning in fact, he'd been trying to figure out who the famed Master of Ceremonies with the thick, nearly incomprehensible brogue was, but he couldn't at all place him.

So James decided, instead, to focus on Grumpy, figuring he could do at least some of Snow's leg work before tonight. "So how long you lived in Storybrooke, Leroy?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Leroy shrugged and grunted, "'S long as I can remember."

"You like it here?"

"Pfft, are you kidding?" he scoffed. "This place is a hell hole. Soon as I get me enough dough, I'm gone."

James glanced down. "Planning a trip?" he asked, tossing the current strand of lights they were laying to the dwarf.

Leroy eyed him warily. "Somethin' like that," he mumbled.

James shook his head – same old Grumpy. He remembered the first few weeks he and Snow had moved into the palace. Grumpy was, of course, completely at ease with Snow, but it had taken some time for him to warm to James. All the dwarfs really, even Doc, were very protective of their beloved princess – a fact he certainly didn't begrudge them. He supposed they had seen her pained enough by his and Snow's separation and heartache to warrant a little caution. But Grumpy had been especially…well…grumpy. The two of them never really bonded until Thomas disappeared, after which they became inseparable comrades.

"Where to?" James asked, wondering if their resident magic expert had somehow concocted a viable escape from the town without even knowing it.

Leroy looked up, thought for a moment about seriously responding, and then thought the better of it. "What's it to _you, _man?"

James held up his hands. "Just makin' conversation."

Leroy rolled his eyes as he took the rest of the strand around his side of the tree and then threw it back to James. "Yeah well, I'm not really the chatty type all right?" he mumbled. "Let's just get this done so the lemmings can have their little yuletide snooze-fest."

"Snooze-fest?" James chortled. "Not a fan of Christmas then?"

Leroy shot the new guy a look. "Let's just say, I've never been terribly…jolly."

James laughed outright as he positioned the next segment of lights and tossed it back down to Grumpy. "Never been jolly? _You_? I'm shocked."

"Hey," he heard a voice on the street below and turned to see his daughter staring up at him, holding a gloved hand up as a visor from the sun.

James immediately hopped down from the ladder, excused himself from Leroy (who shrugged carelessly and continued his work) and joined her on the sidewalk. "Hey, any news?" he asked, his voice hurried though hushed.

Emma sighed, knowing how hard it was for James to stay away from the hospital. But it couldn't be helped. There was no reason for 'David Nolan' to be there. "Some of the swelling in his spine has gone down from yesterday, but he's still not awake," she said sadly. "Dr. Whale is worried the longer he's out, the less likely it'll be that he wakes up."

James sucked in a breath, steeling himself against the dread sinking into the pit of his stomach. He opened his mouth to say something, but then shook his head.

Emma tentatively reached forward and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. From all appearances, it seemed quite clear that Thomas was one of her father's closest friends. She understood probably more than he knew how helpless he was feeling right now. "That's not all," she urged James further away from the tree. They stopped when they reached the tiny gazebo that stood just outside of City Hall. "The nurse I just talked to said that Sean's father came in again this morning and informed the staff that…" she hesitated, barely believing it herself, "he's got a restraining order against Ella. She's not allowed within 100 feet of him and they've been instructed to call security if she shows up."

James's shot open so wide, Emma would have laughed if the circumstances weren't so awful. "A _restraining _order?" he bellowed. "Are you sure?"

"Oh believe me, I made her repeat it three times before I believed what I was hearing."

James crossed his arms, simply fuming on Thomas's behalf. "What in the hell is he thinking?" he muttered more to himself than to Emma.

She kept her hand on his shoulder. "He's…under the curse, James. He doesn't _know _what he's doing."

"Yeah but—" he started, and then looked down, heaving such a tired sigh that he looked about 10 years older than he had just a few minutes ago. "That's just…not…right."

She gulped, trying to think of something to say. He'd been so good the other night in calming her down – a natural father really. She couldn't believe how easily he fit the role, how often since her revelation at Teague's mansion she'd relied on his support. How much she wanted to repay that now. "Hey listen," she said softly. "We're gonna find the guy who did this to him," she said. "Or at least," she added a bit cryptically, "we're going to _prove_ it."

James glanced up from beneath his brow. "What do you mean?"

Emma took a deep breath, not sure how much to reveal before she caught up with Graham. She'd tried contacting him by radio a few times right after she'd left the firehouse, but so far had no response. Seeing the pain in her father's eyes though, she wanted desperately to be able to give him _something._ "We…we have a suspect," she said.

"What?"

"…sort of."

"Who?"

Emma sighed, darting her gaze up and down the square before whispering, "Gaston."

"What?" James hissed, uncrossing his arms.

"Shh!" she scolded, her voice still low. "That's who _I _think did it anyway," she added.

"Why?" he asked. As far as he knew, Gaston had never even met Thomas (unless he counted the time they'd had to keep Adam from beating him to death).

"Well for one thing 'Jack Hunter' has scars and bruises all over the place." She paused, scuffing her boot against the rock hard dirt surrounding the gazebo.

"And…for another?" James leaned forward, sensing there was more to it than that.

Her eyes darted up, and then she asked quickly, "Do you know a guy named Shane Pilfer?"

"Umm," he shook his head, trying to keep up. "No, I don't think so."

Emma bit her lip. "What about Matt Clancy?"

He shook his head. "Sorry," he said sadly. "With the amnesia, I knew almost nothing about 'David', let alone his friends."

Emma frowned. "Right. Well, Shane's name keeps coming up in all of this. Graham was trying to track him down yesterday to see what he knew. And Matt Clancy's the paramedic who brought Sean in."

"What's the connection?"

"To what?"

James smiled. "Between this Shane person and Matt Clancy?"

"Oh," Emma cleared the lump in her throat. "Well, Matt said that Sean was muttering something before he blacked out. 'Find Shane' he said.

"Find Shane?"

Emma nodded.

James shook his head, trying to follow his daughter's train of thought. "Ok, but what does that have to do with Gaston?"

She swallowed hard, eyeing her father ruefully as she struggled with how to respond. The truth was, she wasn't exactly sure. She felt like she had pieces of information that somehow, she knew, all fit together. But she was missing something, something substantial that tied it all together. In the end, all she had was her gut. That's all she'd ever had. And glancing back up at James, she decided that would have to be enough. "Ok," she took a deep breath, gesturing for James to sit down on one of the steps of the gazebo as she joined him. "We know that Sean—or—Thomas," she corrected, "was beaten up right behind Garcon's. _Jack's _bar, right?"

James nodded.

"And according to Frederick, Jack Hunter was incredibly drunk that night to begin with. Belle had just quit."

Another nod. "Right."

Emma sucked in another breath. "Graham and I went to see Jack yesterday, and like I said, we saw bruises all over his face and arms. Obviously he was in _some _sort of fight. When we asked about it, he told us that he'd gotten in some stupid bar brawl with a customer and that _Sean _could attest to the whole thing. Pretty convenient having the _one _guy who can confirm your alibi in a coma, wouldn't you say?"

James leaned back against the guard rail, folding his arms. "_Very _convenient," he agreed.

"When we asked if he had any idea who might have attacked Sean, _Jack _is the one who first suggested Shane Pilfer. Graham told me Shane's some minor troublemaker he's caught gambling a few times in West End."

"Ok?"

"Now I thought it was just some wild goose chase Jack was sending us on," Emma went on, "some name that just popped into his head to deflect attention from himself."

"Makes sense."

"Right, but I find out from Matt Clancy just this morning, that _Sean_ was muttering his name. _Find Shane_, he said."

James took a deep breath as his daughter pieced together her theory. "So this Shane guy definitely has _something _to do with the case. You're just not sure what."

"Well," she said, gearing up for part two of what was starting to sound an awful lot like a conspiracy theory. Her father didn't seem at all to be doubting her though, and if it made sense to _him_, then maybe she wasn't so far off the mark. "There's more," she continued.

For the next few minutes, Emma told James everything about her visit to the firehouse. She described Clancy and Davis in great detail. She told him about the feeling Clancy had had when he heard the 911 call, about how absolutely certain he was that Sean had some mystery rescuer. She even mentioned the strange connection she'd felt with Matt, the feeling that she knew him somehow, or was supposed to. When she was finished, she leaned back, waiting patiently for James to say something like, 'sorry daughter dear, I think you're reaching a bit too far.' But James said no such thing.

He sat there for a while, just thinking, trying to process all the information. His pensive silence was almost unnerving and Emma was thankful she had the cold to blame for why she couldn't keep her leg from twitching up and down. When at last he spoke, he did so slowly and methodically, feeling a bit like he was back in the mines with Grumpy, trying to crack the case. "So it sounds to me," he began, looking up at her, "like this Shane guy could very well be the man who called 911."

Emma perked up, her eyebrows raised high on her head.

"And that it's the first name that occurred to Gaston because it was Shane who stopped _Gaston _from beating Sean up in the first place."

"Yes!" Emma cried, elated. She'd been trying to articulate her theory all day and hadn't quite been able to put it all together.

"So Gaston actually gave you your best clue, Emma," James added, chuckling. "Which would make sense because that guy was never very bright."

She laughed. "And…Clancy's weird…phone call thing?"

He sighed. "I think you're right about that too. Whoever Clancy is from the old world probably knew Shane's alter ego. Shared some kind of connection that would explain how fervently he believes in what he heard."

Emma practically sighed in relief. She couldn't possibly have shared all this with Graham. It wouldn't have made any sense. Hell, it _barely _made sense to her. But talking it through with James…with her father, everything became clear. She supposed in a perfect world, a daughter shouldn't have to have to wait for some whacked out, criminal investigation in a town cursed by an evil witch in order to bond with her dad…but looking up at his supportive gaze, she suddenly wouldn't have wanted it any other way. "So whadyou think?" she asked.

James gripped the guard rail of the gazebo and hoisted himself to his feet, extending his arm to help her do the same. "I think you need to find Shane Pilfer."

Emma was about to respond when Graham's garbled voice through her CB radio startled them both.

"Emma?" came the Irish brogue. "Emmy you copy?"

Emma yanked the CB from her belt. "Graham where the hell have you been?"

"I need you to come down to the station. There's somethin' I think you should see."

…

***So you'll never guess where I've been….ITALY! That's right, I'm in Italy. I had to fly half way around the world to stumble out of my writer's block and get back on track with "Toll Bridge." To those of you so patiently waiting for Adam's reunion with Belle, I promise you it's right around the corner. But we have a bit more leg work to lay before the next huge climax in Storybrooke. I'm fairly certain it'll be worth the wait…but that's of course entirely up to you as readers!

Thank you as always to those of you who read every word and comment on every syllable. You have no idea how much you've kept me going. Most of you by now have figured out who Matt and Shane are. I can't wait to explore their part of this story and for Emma to go on this journey with them. Stay tuned for more Storybrooke fun. Coming up next, a much-awaited confrontation between Regina and Stiltskin, more with Thomas and Ella…and a very tense Christmas tree lighting celebration for James. Adios till then…or as we say in Italy…Ciao!***


	30. The thing about threes

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**The thing about threes**

The shop was as dark as ever, even in the middle of the afternoon, but today's visit was colored with even more trepidation for the queen. Their struggle for power and dominance over all the realms was no secret, but what most perhaps did not know (or rather wouldn't dare to admit to her out loud) was just how outmatched she really was. Try as she might, The Dark One always managed to be one step ahead of her, a fact, she realized in hindsight, she should have remembered when he'd traded the dark curse to her in the first place. Her lust for vengeance, however, and her quest to ruin the happiness of Snow White and her beloved Prince Charming had blinded her. And in the wake of so many…unsettling occurrences now about town, Regina was fairly certain that her visit would come as no surprise to Mr. Gold.

She wasn't inside the shop for more than two seconds before the man himself peaked out from behind the curtain that led to his storeroom. "Madame Mayor," came that deep, slithering voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Let's actually skip those pleasantries, Mr. Gold," she came to a halt just beyond his front counter, rested her weight over one hip and crossed her arms. "We need to talk."

As Regina had expected, Gold seemed not a bit surprised. In fact, she noted as he leaned against his cane, slowly trudging out from behind his counter, he was smiling. "Indeed?" he said congenially. "And how may I help you?"

"Emma Swan," spoke the queen, cutting right to the chase. "Everyone's new favorite…hero," she sneered.

Gold regarded the mayor as one regards a sale before finally making a purchase. He was not at all put off by her terse nature. Dealing with the spoiled, vengeful queen had thus far been so much more…entertaining than any of his other conquests. Perhaps it was why he continued to humor her. "Yes?" he probed.

"What do you know about her?"

Gold reached out and plucked a porcelain tulip from a curious object d'art he'd recently acquired: a waist-high sculpture of a flower pot with dozens of ceramic stems; at the top of each sat a porcelain flower that could double as a teacup. Daintily, he held the tulip up against the sunlight to inspect the cup and then set it back on its stem. "The same as you, I suspect," he offered casually. "Bit of a loner, moved around from town to town, ended up in Storybrooke after your son tracked her down in Boston—"

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Regina scowled.

Gold tilted his head to the side with one eyebrow raised. "Do I?"

She edged forward, keeping her hawk-like glare trained on the old cripple. "I asked you about her when she first arrived. And you told me that she—" she drew a sharp breath, steeling herself against the echoes of her dream this morning and the fears that refused to stay buried, "that _I _know _exactly_ who she is."

"I remember," Gold replied with a sage nod.

She stopped mere inches away from his ancient face. "What did you mean by that?"

"That she's the birth mum of your child of course," he replied, unfazed by her attempts at intimidation. "That she's come to take your boy away, as all adoptive mothers fear at one point or another I suspect."

The queen maintained such an icy stare, one might have expected the whole shop to freeze over. "Really," she drawled.

Gold merely shrugged, turning back to the counter with a convivial grin. He had a natural talent for equivocation of course, but he had to be especially careful with the queen and her sudden interest in Emma Swan. Regina wasn't the only one who'd struck a deal concerning that pivotal princess. He had James's amnesty and immunity on the table after all.

"I think you're lying," she pursued him further, joining him back at the counter. "In fact, I think you've been lying about a lot of things lately, Gold."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I—"

"You know, when two people both want something, Miss Mills, a deal can always be struck."

Regina took a step back. "What?"

"A deal, Madame Mayor," he said, his black eyes twinkling. "It's information you seek, yes? And as you know, information is my most…precious commodity."

She pressed her lips together, having foolishly hoped it might not come to this. "And what is it that _you _want, Mr. Gold?"

"Ah what I want is never as terrible as so many people imagine, now is it dear?"

"That's all in a point of view, I think," she sniped.

Gold tsked and shook his head. "Well, if you're not interested—"

"Wait," she thrust her hand out, stopping him from retreating to his back room. "What are your terms?"

His thin lips curled into a cruel smile as he laid his cane against the wall and carefully laced his fingers together atop the glass counter. "It's quite simple, my dear. I give you the information you need…and you leave me alone."

Regina drew back. "What?"

"I have a few…projects in motion, Miss Mills, as you will one day see for yourself. I would prefer that you leave me to my own devices," he glanced up at her, his face suddenly menacing, "and mind your own business."

The queen's pulse was racing. Surely leaving _Rumpelstiltskin_ to his "own devices" was just about the most ludicrous decision she could possibly make at this point in time. Even if he _didn't _remember who he was, Mr. Gold had quite the history of sly and conniving behavior in Storybrooke alone. Still, she knew nothing in Gold's shop was free…not even conversation. And if she was right about Emma and James and Snow and – well, everything – free reign for Rumpelstiltskin (every bit the enemy of Snow and James that she was) would be the least of her problems. "On one condition," she said.

"And what's that?"

Regina leaned all the way over the counter, her gaze just as dark and sinister. "You tell me your name."

The remark did not seem to alarm the pawn broker, but Regina was pleased that he at least flinched. "It's Mr. Gold," he replied.

"Your real name," she said, her voice low.

Gold crossed his arms over the counter and leaned forward; she pulled back only a fraction of an inch. "Every moment I've spent on this earth, that's been my name."

But Regina would not back down. She was determined to gain at least some ground in this deal. If she walked out of here with anything, she would walk out having confirmed that they _both _knew who the other was. "But what about moments spent…elsewhere?" Gold's lips pursed together as he regarded her thoughtfully, patiently: a calmness with which she wasn't altogether comfortable. Before he could think on it too much longer, she straightened up and extended her hand. "If you want me to leave you to your…own devices, tell me. your. name."

Gold's hand shot out and clasped hers so tightly she almost winced at the pain. "Rumpelstiltskin," he snickered as he gave her hand a hearty shake. "You have a deal…Your Majesty."

Regina pried her hand free of his grasp and massaged her wrist, glaring at him through equally beady eyes. "Well," she huffed. She started to pace down the counter, glancing without really looking at his collection of trinkets. "Now that _that's _finally settled, tell me about Emma Swan. Is she—"

"As long as we're being honest with each other," Gold waved his hand as if she hadn't spoken, "let's remember how things used to be, shall we?"

She whirled on him. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh I believe you know."

"That's not an answer to—"

"Do you enjoy math, Regina?"

Again, the queen started, "What?"

"Math you know, like your boy does in school. The study of numbers? Addition, subtraction, multi—"

"What the hell has _that _got to do with—"

"I've been quite fascinated by numbers lately," he rambled on, gazing at the ceiling like he was contemplating the stars in the heavens. "Particularly the number…three." He looked down again, amused by her gaping stare. "Have you ever noticed, your Majesty, how many things in our world happen in threes?"

Glaring at Gold as if he were some broken automaton whose programming had just shorted out, Regina folded her arms over her chest and sighed impatiently. "No, I don't suppose that I have."

Gold plucked the gold-plaited seashell hanging from its chain on the wall's display pegs. "Oh yes," he swung the pendant before her, "three sunsets, three wishes, three fairies." He paused and set the necklace down with a light chink on the glass. "Three things _you_ don't understand."

The queen slammed her hands down on the counter across from him. "The deal was I leave you alone and you tell me what I want to know. Not spin mindless riddles about—"

"Wrong!" he glowered at her, his voice a few dozen decibels higher than before. "Once again, your Majesty, you fail to read the fine print. The deal was you leave me alone…and I tell you what you _need _to know."

"You. Miserable. Conniving little worm! You—"

"Temper temper, dear," Gold held his hand up to still her wrath, his voice once more calm. "That's a tone hardly befitting of a queen."

Regina launched herself across the counter and grabbed him by the collar. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul your ass down to the station and have D.A. Spencer dig up some dirt on you!"

As if swatting a fly from his sleeve, Gold removed Regina's hand and sneered. "Because I humbly ask…that you _don't_." Then he leaned forward and hissed, "Please."

The seething anger climbing up her neck threatened to burst through her carotid artery, but she managed to contain her temper enough to pull back and recompose herself. She'd already made several blunders on this disastrous visit. She could not afford to break with her original bargain. Acquiescing at last, she leaned back against one of the display cases. "So what are these three things I don't understand?"

Gold grinned like an equestrian taming a horse. "That's a good girl." Regina bit back a few choice curse words as he continued. "The first, I'm afraid, which I am sure will severely bruise your ego, is that you don't have, nor have you ever had any control over the fate of this curse."

"What does that—"

"It means, your Majesty, that your fate is sealed just as surely as Snow White's and Prince Charming's."

Regina clenched her fists so tightly, her fingernails bit into the flesh of her palms. "That's impossible!"

"You operate as if you control the spell. Dearie…you are its most valuable pawn."

"I expect that remark is designed to frighten me in some way," she growled.

"Don't be stupid, Regina. You were already frightened when you walked in my door."

Regina felt her grip on reality slowly unraveling. This was not at _all _how today was supposed to go. "What's the second thing I don't understand?"

"That true love is the most powerful magic of all."

"Oh for the love of—_enough _with that mantra already!" she nearly screamed.

"As you wish," he held up his hands, moving as if he would retreat without another word.

"I already _know _the whole true love is powerful crap!"

"_Knowing_ is not _understanding_, my queen," bellowed the imp. "You have always underestimated that with which you seek to fill the hole left by Daniel's death."

The red rage in her skull flashed white hot, "Don't you _dare _speak his name—"

"Why my sources tell me that three happy endings may be restored by this very night," he replied with a grin. "Heh…imagine that. Another 'three'."

Synapses firing spastically now in her brain, Regina practically threw herself backward down the aisle. "What? _Three _happy endings may—how do you know that? What sources—"

"And you've got less than," he paused and removed a silver pocket watch, patiently discerning the time, "look at that: less than _three_ hours."

Regina bolted for the door, clumsily knocking the ceramic flowerpot to the ground along with an ugly umbrella stand shaped like a rooster near the entrance. She was about to wrench open the door in a panic when she stopped herself, inhaled sharply through her nose and turned. Hell, if it was going to rain, it might as well pour. "Stiltskin," she called to him, for he had been heading to his office.

"Yes, your Majesty?" he gave her another sly smile.

"What's the third thing I don't understand?"

"Ah," Gold let out a mirthless chuckle, closing his hand around the silver tip of his cane. "That one is fairly simple," he replied. But he didn't continue. He wanted to savor this. He wanted to watch her squirm. Evil perhaps, but after all, he _was _the Dark One.

"Well?" she tapped her foot impatiently, crossing her arms."

"_Well_," he mocked, "you have always supposed me to be a somewhat unwanted, but necessary ally," he explained as he limped over to her, inching his way down his aisle of treasures, enjoying every creak he made with his shoe as he drew closer to her. "You have assumed, no doubt, since you arranged this—" he gestured around the shop with his cane— "wonderful life I'm leading here, that I care whether or not the curse continues." Finally, he reached her, his nose merely inches away as he whispered, "I don't."

…

Emma skirted through the station doors and was expecting to head straight into Graham's office, so she was surprised to find her boss sitting on top of _her _desk facing a young dark-skinned male sitting in her chair. She slowed her pace and approached them, instantly sensing from Graham's expression that something was off. "What's up?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

Graham looked over and sighed. "Deputy Swan?" he turned toward the man, "Meet Shane Pilfer."

Emma's jaw fell to her collarbone as Shane gave her a mechanical nod, "Ma'am."

"How did you—" she spluttered at Graham, then turned to Shane. "Have you come to—"

"Shane just turned himself in," Graham added gravely, "for the assault on Sean Herman."

"_What?_" cried Emma, gaping between the two men neither of whom could meet her eye. After an awkward beat, she stepped closer to Shane and glanced down at the ludicrous skull and cross bones stitched across his wool cap. Honestly could this kid be trying for a more obvious cliché? "Why?" she demanded.

Shane shrugged, staring at his thumbs. "Got drunk. Got stupid. Didn't know what I—"

"No, why are you lying?" Emma cut him off, crossing her arms and glaring disapprovingly.

"What?" Shane snapped his head up.

"Emma—"

"Why would you confess to something we both know you didn't do?"

"Excuse me?"

"Emma I really think—"

"Graham, you said so yourself," she whirled on him, "Shane isn't capable—"

"Hey, what's your deal, lady?" Shane sprang up from his chair. "Don't act like you know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Oh I know a hell of lot more than you think I do," she said, getting her first real glimpse of the kid. Despite every effort Shane clearly made to look like a punk, he was really a very handsome young man. Mediterranean complexion, sharp nose, angular jaw and a clear street-made physique. He certainly _looked _as if he were capable of beating the crap out of Jack Hunter.

"Oh yeah? What do you think you know Deputy?" he challenged her.

"I know _you're _the guy who probably saved Sean's life, aren't you?" she spat back, poking him on the sternum with a pronounced thrust of her forefinger. Her words had the desired effect for this time it was Shane who gasped.

Graham placed a hand on Shane's shoulder and eased him back into Emma's chair. "Shane," he said quietly. "We're trying to help you here."

Emma glanced over, wondering now if Graham too had been trying to coax the real story out of him. There was such sadness in his eyes, the same sorrowful expression he'd had yesterday when Jack Hunter first named Shane. She offered the sheriff a small smile before crouching down in front of their fraudulent suspect. "Shane," she said, her voice slightly softened. "How did she get to you?"

"Emma—" Graham jumped.

"_She?"_ Shane reeled back in the chair.

"Please, just tell me what she's got on you. Whatever it is—"

"Emma stop—"

"How do you-" he started, but then caught himself. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

She opened her mouth, about to say _the queen_. "The mayor," she said instead.

"The _mayor?_" Shane spluttered and to her surprise, he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Graham took the opportunity to seize Emma's upper arm and drag her away from the desk. "What the _hell _are you doing?"

"Getting the truth!" she hissed.

"By blaming the mayor…_again_?"

"Oh wake up Graham," she shrugged out of his grasp. "You said so yourself that Shane couldn't have done this. And he's been living off the grid for how long?" she gestured back to him, still eerily chuckling. "You spent all of yesterday trying to track him down and now he just _happens _to walk in here on his own and gives us a full confession?"

"I know all that, but you can't just go around accusing Regina of every bloody thing that goes wrong around here! You—"

"The _hell _I can't!" Emma shouted. And the quarrel might have continued had Shane's laughter not abruptly subsided. He was glaring at them now, and Emma started at his piercing gaze. _He knows something,_ she thought suddenly. Maybe not everything but…something. "You keep burying your head in the sand, Graham," she muttered. "Let me know how that works out for you." She pulled away from him, rolled a stray chair over from an empty desk and plopped down. "Shane," she started quietly, choosing to act as though the disturbing, almost maniacal laughter hadn't happened. "I know it probably seems like you don't have a choice here, but we both know what really went down in that parking lot.

Shane slowly folded his arms and leaned forward. "Oh we do, do we?"

"Yes and we all know who _really _beat up Sean," she clenched her fists. "So tell me, what's she got on you? Is it your ex-wife?"

"Leave her out of this."

"Your father-in-law?"

"I'm warning you—"

Just _tell _me," she begged him. "What's Regina—"

"Christ, you _really _don't get it, do you Deputy?" Shane sprang up again, swiping his palm over his stocking cap and sliding it off, revealing a sleak yet unruly crop of black hair. "You think the _mayor _is gonna concern herself with the likes of me? Hell this isn't even something she'd sick on her cane-waving errand boy!"

Emma blinked. Cane-waving errand boy? That's new. Instinctively, she looked at Graham (hating that he was still her first assumption) but Graham didn't have a cane. She'd never seen anyone around here with a cane except…Oh God— "Who, Mr. Gold? Are you talking about Gold?"

But this just earned her another pitiful laugh.

"Gold? God, you know _nothing_," Shane shook his head and actually looked a little angry. "You know, for a split second there I thought maybe you had a clue."

"Hey," barked Graham, "you know technically I should've just put you in cuffs man and locked you up—"

"Good!" he replied, thrusting his wrists out in front of him. "Please do! And get the little princess out of my face here—"

Emma clenched her teeth together, knowing full well the 'princess' remark wasn't at all meant to be ironic. "Hey I'm just trying to help—"

"Yeah well, _your _kind of help just gets people hurt!"

Emma felt as if someone had body-checked her into a concrete wall. "What?"

"Now wait a minute, Shane," Graham implored him, suddenly very concerned about his old friend's embittered disposition. Shane always had a bit of a temper and a snarky attitude…but _this_?

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Shane pointed an accusing finger at the deputy. "_She _knows," he said to Graham though his gaze remained fixed on Emma. "You _know _all the weird shit started happening around here when she came to town."

"All right, enough of this," pleaded Graham.

But Emma shook her head, silencing him. "No," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. "He's right." She swallowed hard and stared into Shane's steel gaze, his eyes so young and yet aged and soured by this damned curse. Graham had already told her the gist of the kid's story. He was really only a few years older than Sean, happily married and settled, only to be pulled apart by illness, crime, temptation – she wondered who this Shane really was, who he was from her parents' world, and for the second time today she wished her father were here. Just how cruel was this curse? To have kept her parents apart with James' coma and Snow's ignorance was one thing, but to have given this man the memories of having destroyed his own marriage? She suddenly didn't know which was worse. "You're right," she said again, barely above a whisper. Shane narrowed his glare. "All this…stuff started happening when I got here." She took a few cautious steps forward, holding his gaze. "Stuff you seem to know…an awful lot about, Shane." He looked away, hands shoved tightly into his pants pockets. For a while, no one said anything, and Emma took his silence as a good sign. "Please," she said. "Help me fix it. Tell me who got to you."

But Shane rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Pfft, you just. don't. get it," he huffed. "It's not about _who _got to me. It's about puttin' your ears and nose to the ground and listening. It's about knowing how deep her pockets are and how many people she's got _in _'em. It's about a network of hard asses so thick you don't know who you can—" And as quickly as he'd allowed the words to pour out, he stopped them up again. He backed away, startled by how far forward he'd advanced on the deputy and even more unnerved by how much he'd let slip. "Look," he said, his tone markedly different. "Look just...forget about it. I came to confess and I've done that. So just…" he mumbled, once again offering his wrists to the sheriff and staring blankly at his hands, "just lock me up and…and be done with it."

Emma was practically shaking, her mouth shaped in a slackened 'O' as the three of them stared in silence. "Shane," she tried at last.

But he turned almost violently away from her. "Sheriff?" he called impatiently, giving his outstretched arms a shake. "I ain't saying anything more. I beat up that kid and that's the end of it."

Graham turned to Emma, staring helplessly. Emma shook her head, a silent plea, but there was nothing he could do. And more to the point, there was nothing _she _could do. He rubbed the back of his neck and gestured toward the cell. "Yeah Shane…I'm afraid it is."

…

"This the last of it?" asked James, tossing over to Leroy what he hoped was the last box of cloth bows and giant vinyl ornaments from Marco's annual stash. The lights were strung, the wiring complete, and the giant star on top was already in place. He and Leroy were actually feeling pretty confident with their work until Bethany, the old office biddy from Snow's school (who also happened to head the decorating committee), had accosted them, insisting that the tree needed more trimmings. After much grumbling, Marco remembered some boxes he'd stored from previous years and sent Leroy and James back to the shop.

"It better be," growled Leroy as he slammed the tailgate of his truck into place. "I seen just about enough Christmas cheer for one day."

James chuckled. "I hate to tell ya this, but this _is _only the tree lighting. Christmas itself isn't for a few more weeks—"

"Yeah yeah," he hawked a wad of spit at the concrete. "Let's just get movin' huh?"

"Excuse me, David?" came a voice behind them. Leroy peered past his coworker and shifted uncomfortably at the sight of the young blonde. He hadn't admitted it to anybody of course, but Leroy was deeply troubled by the news her husband's attack. After all, the grumpy mechanic didn't have a whole lot of friends.

James turned around. "Ashley!" he said, moving towards her. "Haven't seen you since—" he paused, recalling that awful phone call from the hospital, "—since that night. How are you?"

Ella's eyes twinkled brightly, but she managed to suppress her grin long enough to tilt her gaze past James's shoulder and call to Grumpy. "Leroy, you mind giving us a few minutes?"

Leroy shrugged and heaved himself into his truck with a non-committal hurrumph and a slammed door. Ella was about to continue when both of them jumped at the engine revving and watched as the truck suddenly sped away. Ella blankly stared after it, but James just laughed.

"I'm sorry," Ella chuckled, turning back to him. "I didn't mean he had to…you know…actually _leave_."

James shook his head and waved her off. "It's ok. I've still got mine," he gestured over to the SUV parked on the curb. Ella nodded with a slight shiver, tightening her collar around her neck. James led her back inside the garage. "Here come on out of the cold," he offered. "What can I do for you?"

Ella slipped inside the door, thankful for the warmth. "Actually, she took a deep breath as James moved to the wall here his keys were hung. "I'm looking for your wife."

James's brow creased. He wasn't aware of any contact Ella had ever had with Abigail. "Kathryn? She's working at the bank until 5."

But the girl just grinned, pulling her parka's hood off her head and letting her blonde curls tumble softly to her shoulders. "Not Kathryn, James," she said softly. "Your _real _wife."

James's keys fell to the floor with a resounding clatter as her meaning fully resonated. "Ella?" he rasped, grasping the counter behind him for support. Ella just smiled and nodded for the look of utter relief on his face rendered her too emotional for words. "Oh Ella!" he cried, crossing the garage in a few quick strides and gathering her in his arms. She laughed and cried with James as she'd laughed and cried with Snow, overwhelmed by how genuinely _good _it was to see him. "How?" he whispered as he kissed the top of her head and then drew back from her. "When?"

"Last night," she smiled, wiping a tear from her cheek. "It was Christopher."

James's eyes widened as he gave her arms another squeeze. "Christopher!" he gasped. "You mean he's –is he also—"

"Awake, yes. He's with Thomas now," she explained. "We're both…playing our parts for the queen."

James recalled Emma's news in a different light_: He's got a restraining order against Ella. She's not allowed within 100 feet of him and they've been instructed to call security if she shows up_. So it was all an act, thank the gods, though he couldn't help noting a hint of sadness in Ella's voice. "That must be so hard on you," he said.

Her eyes flashed with the tiniest bit of hurt and anger. "It's taking every bit of self control I've got _not _to go to him," she confessed. Then she inhaled sharply through her nose and smiled. "But apparently Snow has a plan that's going to change that. So—"

"I certainly do," came Snow's reply, and the two turned as she stepped in through the garage door, grinning from ear to ear.

"Snow!" Ella exclaimed as James moved immediately to help her finagle the crutches over the threshold. Snow kissed her husband warmly before they were joined by their friend.

"I thought I'd find you in here," Snow beamed, refusing to conceal one bit of her glee at having the younger princess fully restored to them.

"I know," Ella beamed back. "I couldn't resist telling him. No sense in _both _of our husbands being in the dark," she gave James a friendly nudge.

"Exactly," Snow agreed, smiling between the two, "which is why I told you to meet me here and not at the Emporium. But that's where we have to go now; Belle will be waiting by the tree and," she turned to James, "we also have to get Grumpy on board. Is that him I saw pulling away?"

Ella and James exchanged a knowing laugh. "Yeah," James shook his head. "That was him. And I already did a little scouting for you. Turns out 'Leroy' _hates _Christmas," he said with mock indignation, "and he's not busy tonight. You should have no problem getting him to join you."

"Good," Snow nodded, tugging her scarf more securely around her neck.

Ella, feeling a bit out of the loop now, looked sternly over at Snow. "So exactly what kind of trouble are you getting me into this time?"

"The only kind _worth _getting into," she winked at her friend and then turned back to her husband. "The kind that leads to true love."

A flutter of excitement swelled in Ella's chest at the thought of seeing Thomas tonight. Though she fully recollected their time together as 'Sean' and 'Ashley', she also felt as if she hadn't seen her beloved prince in decades. "Well, I certainly hope so," she said, though more to herself than to Snow. She glanced at the pair of them and watched as the dynamic between James and his wife subtly changed. Outwardly there was still the same ease and friendliness, but Ella could tell James was scared for her, for them. "Listen," she cleared her throat. "I'm gonna duck into Tony's Deli real quick before we head to the Emporium."

James's head snapped up. "We have some food in the fridge here," he offered.

But Ella shook her head. "No, it's not that. Tony was one of Christopher's head chefs," she explained.

Snow's mouth fell open. "Is _that _who he is? I wondered why his _food _was so familiar but _he _wasn't," she said. "I'm afraid I didn't get to know your staff very well."

Ella smiled. "It's ok. I only just remembered now," she gestured toward the window, "thinking of all the shops on the square." And with a slight wave, she left the two of them alone in the garage.

Snow chuckled as she turned back to James. "Isn't it wonderful to have her back? Honestly I couldn't even believe—"

But Snow didn't have a chance to finish. As soon as the door closed behind Ella, James caught Snow around the waist and pulled her into a kiss, pressing her to him by the small of her back. He ran his mouth over hers, tilting her head to the side and back as he kissed her again and again. Snow's body responded in kind, and she arched into him, curling her fingers through his hair, though she could sense through his touch that this embrace was not motivated by passion. No, she realized as his other hand sifted through her hair and came to rest lightly on her shoulder, trembling. _He _was trembling. "Darling," she whispered against his lips as she pulled a mere fraction of an inch away from him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

An eerie hush fell over her husband, and she felt him sigh against her cheek before resting his chin on her head and squeezing her close. "I'm…just, nervous for you," he said at last, "that's all."

Snow slipped her arms underneath his and smoothed her palms up his back. "Don't be," she whispered, peering up at him. "Really, it's gonna be fine."

But James was unconvinced. He'd been nervous about this plan since Snow first disclosed it. So much of its success relied on mere theories and happenstance. "You can't be sure of that."

"We can't be _sure _of anything," she countered. And she knew that _he _knew she was right. After all, this was hardly the first time Snow White and Prince Charming had had to rely on faith alone to pull through.

He looked down at her, losing himself in the intensity of her gaze before he tilted her chin up and brushed his lips gently across hers. "I know," he said at last.

"And besides," she pulled back with a bright smile. "It's not like we're about to storm the castle and retake the kingdom, Charming. It's just a doctor's appointment."

"With a doctor whose identity we're still not sure of," he said, cocking an eyebrow.

Snow let her hands fall to his arms with a reassuring squeeze. "It's going to be fine," she said again. "Which reminds me, did you bring it?"

James took a deep breath. "Abigail's got it. She's gonna bring it to the tree right after she gets off work."

"Good."

"Snow—"

"I know, I know," she cut in, stepping back from him. "You can't promise it'll work."

"No it's not that," he said, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops and leaning back against the counter. "Just, make sure you're not…you know, you're not too obvious about it."

Snow's hands came to her hips as her lips curled into a sly grin. "Are you suggesting, Prince Charming, that I need lessons in subtly?"

Her coyness finally earned her a smile as he held his hands up and shrugged. "Wouldn't dream of it, princess."

"Because you know," she sauntered back to him, curled her index finger into the lapel of his flannel and pulled him close, "I'm a fast learner."

James inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the fiery spark in her eyes and what it did to him. "I just want you to be careful," he rasped, slipping his hands down around her waist again.

The playful mischief slid away from her gaze as she grew serious once more. "I know," she whispered. "We will be." She cupped the back of his head and pulled him down for another kiss, this one so reassuring the tension finally eased from his arms. Gradually, she felt his whole body relax and she sighed as he dropped his head to her shoulder. "I love you," she said, glancing up at the ceiling tiles of the garage, wishing she was gazing instead at the fine frescos that once adorned the walls and domes of their summer palace.

James pulled back, cupped her cheek in his palm and was about to reply, when the rear door of the garage unlatched behind them and squeaked open. "Oh!" they heard as they both turned. "Umm…s-sorry," said their daughter whose face flushed beat red with embarrassment. Emma was about to head right back out the door but James called out to her.

"No it's ok," he chuckled. "Come on in. We were just—" he glanced at his wife and then back at his daughter— "going over the plan."

"Uh huh," said Emma, still standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Yeah, no. I uh, I was just looking to um, ask you something," she cleared her throat, feeling stupid. This felt _so _strange. On the one hand, she felt like she was walking in on two friends; the urge to tease and say cliché things like: _Plan huh? Is _that _what the kids are calling it nowadays?_ was hard to ignore. On the other hand, she was acutely aware that these were her _parents _she'd just walked in on. Kissing. So despite her age, she also felt like a 14-year-old girl who should be saying things like…_eww._

"What's up?" James asked, stepping away from Snow and again gesturing for Emma to come in.

Emma reached in her coat pocket and pulled out a few polaroids. "We found Shane Pilfer," she sighed.

"You did?" James rushed over.

"Who's Shane Pilfer?" Snow asked.

"Someone we think helped Sean that night," Emma explained and then turned to James, "although that's gonna be even harder to prove now than we thought."

"Why?"

"He confessed. Turned himself in."

"What?" James gaped as Emma handed him the picture.

"It's true. Confessed to the whole beating."

Snow shook her head, trying to keep up. "Why would he do that if you say he actually _helped _Sean?"

Emma's hands came to her hips. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. _Someone_ obviously got to him. But he won't say who." She turned to her father who was studying the mug shot carefully. "Do you recognize him?"

He frowned, running his finger along the stiff edge of the photo. "No," he shook his head finally and then handed it to his wife. "You?"

Snow peered over her husband's shoulder. The young man looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. "No, I'm sorry. Maybe someone from the village?" she glanced up at James, but he just frowned.

"When you say 'someone' got to him," asked James, "do you mean the queen?"

Emma huffed. "That's what I thought at first, but when I put it to him? When I asked if the mayor had put him up to this, he…" she trailed off, staring past them as if replaying the eerie scene in her head.

"He what?" Snow asked.

Emma sighed. "He laughed at me."

"Laughed?" James said.

"Yeah, it was so weird," she shook her head, taking the photo back from her father. "He was almost…cocky. Like he _knows_ more than we do. And then he started talking about a network."

"A network?" James hugged his middle, folding his arms together. He didn't like the sound of that one bit. "What kind of network?"

Emma bit her lip. "I don't know. He was pretty tight lipped after that. But I have a feeling he was talking about people _working _for the queen. Said something about how deep _her _pockets are and how many people she's got in 'em."

James's gaze darted at once to Snow and Emma did not miss the warning look on his face. As if reading his mind, Emma stepped over to her mother. "Snow, I don't know if tonight is such a good idea."

The princess sighed, rubbing her temples between her thumb and forefinger. "We've been over this—"

"We don't know how many sets of eyes she's got at the hospital. You and Belle—"

"And Ella now," Snow countered. "Ella will be there too. As well as Grumpy."

Emma started, glancing between Snow and her father. "E-ella? You mean Ashley? She's awake?"

"Yes," Snow nodded confidently. "Awake and ready. Honestly, there are enough jitters between you two to start an earthquake."

"We're just worried for you, Snow," James offered. "What Shane said confirms what we've feared all along. The queen _isn't_ acting alone and she's probably got even more people than we—"

"James? Emma?" she said sternly, "Enough." There was no mistaking her tone nor the meaning in her grasp as she took her daughter's hand in one of her own and her husband's in the other. "We are not going to restore our people to their rightful lives if we don't take some risks."

"But—" Emma started, but Snow shot her a look that silenced her.

"Risks, Emma. Like you took in coming here with Henry." She turned back to James. "Like _you _took in bringing her to save me from Jefferson. And besides, you know as well as I do that it's just as dangerous to leave Adam in _their _care as it is to try and get him out."

James sighed. "I know."

Snow's gaze drifted between the two and in spite of their legitimate anxieties, she found herself smiling. They were _so _alike. "Look," she gave their hands a squeeze. "I know you would _both _rather fall on your own swords than let someone else have a go. But you're going to have to get past that, ok? You have a ceremony to attend," she reminded her husband, then she turned to her daughter, "And _you _have an investigation to finish."

…

Henry sat impatiently kicking his legs back and forth as they hung off the edge of a rather stiff and uncomfortable hospital chair. The queen had picked him up right after school and taken him straight to Storybrooke General, so he hadn't any opportunity to see his real mother, nor did he have the chance to tell Grandma about science class. Towards the end of the school day, Mr. Howenstein had taken them to the greenhouse for a lesson on photosynthesis. During the lecture, a plump green caterpillar had crawled up to his hand, tickled the webbing between his thumb and forefinger and then looked up at him. _Can you help? _he heard the bug's voice in his head. Henry stared down and nodded, allowing it to crawl up into his hand. _My friend is stuck!_ Surreptitiously, Henry allowed the caterpillar to direct him toward a collection of unused pots in the corner where they found a ladybug stuck in a tangle of spider webs. Within seconds, the bug was freed. The caterpillar hopped off Henry's thumb onto a daisy with a high-pitched _thank you_, and the ladybug, who to Henry's surprise spoke to him with a deep, tough-guy accent, mumbled _yeah thanks kid_ and fluttered away.

He couldn't wait to tell Snow about it, but science was the last period of the day and Regina had whisked him away from school immediately after the bell rang. This incident was nerve-wracking enough for the poor boy, for the last time she'd done that had been the evening of the Pops-almost-got-poisoned-by-pie debacle. But then they'd headed straight to the hospital, and as far as Henry was concerned, _nothing _good ever happened _here_. Not since Snow woke up James and he escaped the queen's coma. Henry half expected the mayor to head straight for Sean Herman's room – for what purpose, he couldn't guess, but he was sure she was up to no good. Strangely enough though, the name Sean hadn't even come up. Dragging him clumsily by the arm, Regina had ushered him into a service elevator, rode it to the third floor, and instructed Henry to wait in a chair right outside the office of someone named Dr. Damian Fisk. He sat for what seemed like an hour, listening to the muffled bickering of his adoptive mother's shrill voice and this Fisk guy's gravelly one. He was about to press his ear to the door to see if he could get some more intel but then the elevator dinged, and a tall, dark-haired woman stepped out into the vestibule and glided down the short corridor to the office, sweeping right past Henry to knock on the door. A voice inside said, "One moment!" and the dark-haired woman took that moment to pass an appraising gaze over Henry that made him feel creepy and shivery all over. Her eyes were cold, calculating, but somehow her smile was warm and inviting. Henry suddenly felt like a puppy in a pet shop, being inspected by a cruel owner looking to buy.

The door cracked open and the woman slipped inside. It sealed shut once more and again, Henry strained his ear toward it. But he couldn't hear a thing. He briefly considered leaving, but then thought the better of it. If he left, Regina might think he _did _hear something and then wonder why he ran. No, he thought. He _had _to play this cool. Sitting back in the chair, he withdrew one of his old _Captain America _comics from his backpack and began flipping through the familiar pages. After a few more minutes, the office door opened again, and Regina, the dark woman, and Dr. Fisk stepped out toward the bank of elevators. Fisk glared down at Henry so harshly, he almost ducked his head behind his comic, but he resisted. Who knows, he might have to describe this guy to Pops or his mom someday. So he glared back, and got a good look at his wiry face and severe eyes, his jet black hair and sideburns outlining his head like some sort of weird helmet. The doctor almost looked ready to snap at him, but then the elevator dinged a second time and out walked a lean, sly-looking man swinging a cane, approaching the group with a crooked grin. "Well well well, what have we here?" he said in a sing-songy voice that reminded Henry of an old black and white detective flick. "I didn't realize you'd convened the entire Council, your Maj—"

"John!" Regina nearly shouted, clamping her hands down on Henry and dragging him up off his chair to stand in front of her. "I don't believe you've ever met my _son_," she said in a voice so grating, Henry could actually hear her teeth grinding together.

John, noticing the boy for the first time, looked genuinely surprised to see him, but was caught off guard for only a moment. "No ma'am. I don't believe I have. Not formally anyway," he said with a jovial grin, hunching down to Henry's level and sticking out his hand. "It's Henry isn't it? John W. Foulfellow here," he said with a wink.

Henry stifled a laugh. He could tell instantly there was something very sinister about this man, but also seemed strangely likable. "Nice to meet you," he muttered, reluctantly shaking the villain's hand.

"Well," John slapped his knee and rose once more to this feet, tapping the tip of his cane on the cold tile with a decided plunk. "Bringing your kid to _staff _meetings now, Madame Mayor?" he asked.

Regina slid Henry to the side and advanced on the sinewy fellow. "Henry and I are headed to the tree lighting from here," she explained, though her voice was low and menacing. "And he's going to wait _here_," Regina spun to face him, "while we go check on our…problem. Right Henry?"

Henry gulped, glancing up at the figures who all of the sudden seemed to tower over him: the mayor, the doctor, the woman and the man with the cane. "Y-yes ma'am," he replied hastily, and headed straight back to his chair, tucking his legs one underneath the other and spreading his comic book back over his lap.

"Good," she said and then added, "I won't be a minute dear." She attempted this last bit in as sweet a voice as she could muster, but Henry wasn't fooled. The queen was…well…pissed. And Henry intended to find out why.

…

The four rogues stalked down the third floor corridor to the high-level security gates that locked up the psychiatric wing. Pausing to check back on Henry, who was still safely seated by the elevator, Regina sighed and stepped through the gate after Jafar, followed by Circe and Honest John.

"I can't believe you didn't leave the kid at home," snarled Jafar under his breath as he swiped his security card through the second lock and led his party into the psych ward.

"I need to keep him close now," Regina spat back. "Would you rather I have him 'prancing about town telling people who they are' as you so aptly put it the other night?"

"That was Ursula, your _Majesty_," he snarled. "But she does have a point about him. I hear he's been cavorting with our new deputy a little too often for my tastes."

"I'm not interested in _your _tastes, Jafar. Just open the damn door."

Jafar sighed, glancing at Circe, glaring at John, and then looking back to the queen. "As I've been assuring you all afternoon," he said as he swiped his key card one more time and the room clicked open, "he is in fact, completely incapacitated." The door swung open and all four villains took turns peering inside at the heavily sedated man strapped tightly to the cot. "Plus, Belle has not been back since that night. I hear she even came to visit with Sean the other day and never once ventured up here."

"She visited Sean?" Regina whirled on him.

"They _were _coworkers, your Majesty," John reminded her.

Regina sighed, looking back at Adam who, thankfully, did seem completely knocked out. Rumpelstiltskin's warning was gnawing at her though, eating at her from the inside out and despite all appearances, she simply wasn't convinced. "I thought you claimed the drugs would stop working. That once he _saw _her, they would cease being effective."

Circe opened her mouth to reply, but Jafar responded first. "Yes, well despite Circe's over-inflated ego, I believe we dodged a bullet here. Clearly we just needed to up the dosage. And let's face it, a crazy man safely secured in the psych ward is not nearly as messy a situation as a sloppy murder would have been. Plus Prince Thomas may very well be paralyzed because of what the brute did to him, so—"

"Listen you sniveling weasel," Regina latched on to Jafar's lab coat. "I have it on _very_ good authority that _three_ separate happy endings will be restored by tonight. For all we know, at least one of those has already happened. Now," she turned toward the infamous enchantress, "as I understand it, you have managed to _convince _Shane Pilfer to take the fall for Sean's attack which will delay his and Jasmine's happy ending indefinitely. But unfortunately," she scowled at the woman, "with Shane on the books for Sean's attack, we can't any longer count on the bartender finishing the job he started. If Adam is indeed contained here, then we have to assume the threat is with Sean."

"I'd heard through the grapevine that the good king took out a restraining order against Cinderella, your Worshipfulness," teased John. "Doesn't sound very 'happy' to me."

Regina threw her errand boy a shrewd look and cleared her throat. "Yes, Rodmilla's been stalling Mitchell for weeks, but it's only a matter of time before his guilt and empathy overpower his rage." She turned back to Jafar. "Gold says this will happen _tonight_. Do you understand? We must not let it."

"And just what do you want me to do?" asked the doctor, clutching the door handle to Adam's room and preparing to pull it shut.

"If I may," came Circe voice, ever soothing, ever incongruous given the quarrel at hand. "Adam," she gestured inside the room, "is impervious to directaction by the Council. Thomas…is not."

The group fell silent, each contemplating the implications of this particular fact. "Are you suggesting we simply…_kill _Ella's prince?" Jafar hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" Circe asked coolly. As long as that prince wasn't Adam, she couldn't care less.

"Might I remind you kind folks that the king is at this very minute keeping a close vigil with his son?" said John, his demeanor quite changed from that of the flamboyant lout that came off the elevator.

"Such obstacles didn't prevent you from killing dear Mr. Tillman, John," said Circe. "Don't tell me you've gone soft."

"Not at all," John dismissed her faux concern with ease, "I simply abhor making a _mess _of things." He turned back to Regina. "Concealing the murder of a known loving husband and son is not as easy as that of a poor trucker who's just discovered he's a single dad."

"Well then perhaps _your _services are not required in this case, John," countered Circe. "After all, we have a _doctor _right here. And this _is _a hospital. Sometimes mistakes just…happen."

A tiny, frightened gasp followed by the squeaking of sneakers sounded behind them, and they all whirled around to peer down the corridor. There was nothing there, but they refused to take chances. Adam's room wasn't far from the main vestibule and Jafar, with his long lanky stride, reached the end of the hallway first. He rounded the corner, spotted the threat immediately and then glowered back at Regina as she approached. Regina joined Jafar at the cross aisle and her heart sank, for sitting cross-legged on the floor, his comic book flung hastily open across his lap, was her son.

"Henry?" she scolded, though her voice was shaking with worry. She could handle these small breaches in security when they were alone, but with Jafar and Circe looking on…they would demand action. "I thought I told you to stay out _there_," she pointed past the beefed up security. "How did you even get inside the gate?"

Henry looked up from his comic, his lip trembling, mentally kicking himself as he stared up at four stern faces belonging to now confirmed villains. Villains…he might never be able to warn his family about. "It…it wasn't locked, Mom," he said, trying to sound casual. "I…I was gettin' worried we'd miss the tree lighting so I just…I just—"

"What did you hear, you little—" growled the doctor.

"You know," interrupted the cane-twirler with an exaggerated flourish. "It's not polite to eavesdrop, little man," he crouched down and tousled his hair.

"I—I wasn't," he said, looking back up at the queen. "Honest, I saw you arguing so I just waited here and r-read my comic."

He could tell no one believed him. The doctor's arms were crossed coldly across his chest and the dark-haired woman's beady eyes were glaring him down through two incredibly narrow slits. Only the man with the cane seemed unconcerned, though still sinister. Ironically enough, Henry's best hope out of this mess now was the queen. "Get up," she ordered him. "We're leaving." And as Regina grabbed him by the back collar of his shirt and guided him back through security as echoes of that horrifying conversation rang between his ears: _Such obstacles didn't prevent you from killing dear Mr. Tillman… Gold says this will happen tonight. We must not let it…This _is _a hospital. Sometimes mistakes just happen…_ Henry couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot worse…for everyone.

…

"Are you suggesting we simply…_kill _Ella's prince?" hissed the voice he knew far too well. The voice whose orders had kept him trapped for years.

"Why not?" replied the devil herself – Circe, the enchantress from hell.

"Might I remind you kind folks that the king is at this very minute keeping a close vigil with his son?" said the voice he did not recognize. He sounded more pleasant than the rest, at least, though no kinder than his cohorts.

"Such obstacles didn't prevent you from killing dear Mr. Tillman, John," said Circe. "Don't tell me you've gone soft."

These names meant nothing to him, but the portent of violence on the horizon made escape all the more necessary. He must struggle free. He must not let these heinous crimes take place.

"Not at all," said the new voice with a carelessness he found distasteful. "I simply abhor making a _mess _of things. Concealing the murder of a known loving husband and son is not as easy as that of a poor trucker who's just discovered he's a single dad."

"Well then perhaps _your _services are not required in this case, John," countered the vixen bitch. "After all, we have a _doctor _right here. And this _is _a hospital. Sometimes mistakes just…happen."

Something claimed their attention down the hall, and the man reopened his deep blue eyes, listening as the footsteps of villains retreated from his doorway. _Sometimes mistakes just…happen. _He didn't have to know what the hell was going on in this world to know that someone he cared about was most likely in danger. Certain the rogues would not return, Adam clenched his fists and began to pull at his restraints.

…

At about 6:15pm, the very unlikely crew of three princesses and a dwarf arrived at the hospital. Ella drove, Leroy grudgingly sat in the back with Rose, and Snow maneuvered herself into the front passenger side with her crutches. After parking, the three women paused right at the curb before the entrance awning. Leroy, of course, plowed on ahead without realizing that Rose French had completely frozen.

Snow glanced between her sister princesses, eyeing Belle with concern. "What's wrong?"

Rose was staring up at the top floor of the hospital. "Nothing," she said briskly.

Unconvinced, Snow used her crutches to spin herself around and face her friend. "Relax," she said as the winter wind whipped their scarves into the air. "You're gonna do fine."

"Me?" Rose let out a nervous laugh. "What about _you_?" she glanced down at Snow and Ashley – er- Ella. "My part is easy compared to—" she gestured down at Snow's bag in which, she knew, lay the most unlikely weapon.

"That's why my part comes first," Snow winked, giving the bag a confident pat. 'that way if it doesn't work, you and Ella just leave and we try something else later."

Rose looked from Snow to Ella who smiled supportively as well. "She's right," added Ella, "and it's _going_ to work." She too then glanced up at the building and sighed.

"Sometime today ladies!" bellowed Leroy who was clucking impatiently below the awning, tapping his foot up and down on the icy pavement.

Snow chortled, rolled her eyes and clasped Belle's hand as the three of them headed inside.

…

*****So I know it's been FOREVER since I updated, and I had promised you an update sooner than this. I also know many out there are now frustrated cuz we still have no Belle/Adam reunion. The silver lining in all of this is that this update took so long because I started writing these next few chapters backwards. So the Adam/Belle prison break out scene is already written! I just have to fill in a few more blanks and scenes that get us from here to there. So it shouldn't be too much longer before I have the epic conclusion of Snow's hospital escape plan :) Hope that mollifies a bit of the impatience out there. Believe me, I'm just as anxious for those kids to see each other again as you are!**

**Many thanks as usual to all my regular readers and those recent subscribers. It's always wonderful to see/hear/know how much the work is appreciated. Plenty more in store for our unlikely team of heroes and villains. Stay tuned for a bit of drama with Henry too…though I think in the end you're gonna like how it turns out! As they say in Italy…Ciao!*****

**PS – Anyone seen **_**Newsies **_**on Broadway yet? Holy smokes. If you want to blame anything for the delay, blame **_**Newsies**_** cuz…yowzers…best damn thing I've ever seen on a Broadway stage!**


	31. Moonlight, Mayhem and Mistletoe

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Moonlight, Mayhem and Mistletoe**

Leroy wanted to know as little as possible about what Mary Margaret and her friends were doing. His interest in this little errand extended only as far as Mary's guarantee that it would royally piss off Regina Mills. For as long as he could remember, that bitch seemed to spend her hours _looking _for excuses to have him thrown in jail. Granted, a few of these infractions _might _be considered legitimate, but there was a time when all Regina Mills had to do was _look _at him and her little errand-boy-sheriff would come out of nowhere and clamp down the cuffs.

Eventually Graham convinced him to take this job at the hospital – a job that was a bit more respectable than Marco Collodi's grunt in Regina's eyes – which lessened the frequency of nights spent in jail, but Leroy hadn't forgotten the many "favors" he owed his dear mayor. If this little mission of Mary Margaret's pissed off that witch, it would be well worth another night in the slammer. Besides…he _hated _that syrupy Christmas festival at the Emporium. Too much cheeriness in one place.

As soon as the four of them walked inside, Leroy led Rose French and Ashley Boyd immediately down a corridor he was fairly certain would be empty this time of night. It led only to a service closet and storeroom with cleaning supplies, and the cleaning ladies will have already made their rounds. However, when he opened the closet door, they all jumped back, and Ashley shrieked as a man who'd clearly been leaning up against the other side of the door spilled into the hallway.

"Walter!" Leroy spat, recovered from his initial shock. He glanced down at his coworker, a short stocky fellow not much taller than himself who was constantly falling asleep on the job. He gestured toward the closet and chided, "Again?"

But before Walter could reply, Ashley suddenly squealed, "Sleepy!"

Leroy and Walter both turned to glare at her as she cupped her hand over her mouth. "Yeah?" said Walter. "So I'm a little sleepy, what's it to you?" he asked in a high nasally voice, pausing to yawn in between words.

Ella stammered. "Uh…uh nothing. Sorry. Nevermind." Then she darted a glance over at Belle's questioning gaze as if to say '_later'._

'Whatchyou even doin' here Leroy?" asked Walter. "you're not even workin' tonight!"

"Pickin' up your slack, looks like," he replied coldly, pushing past him and grabbing a fresh pair of nurse scrubs off the shelf. "Here," he tossed Rose the scrubs as Mary Margaret had instructed him to.

"Hey, you can't just give those out to anybody," Walter spat, grabbing Leroy by the collar.

"What're you gonna do about it pal? Squeal on me?"

"I might."

"And risk me telling Whale you were snoozin' your shift away in the broom closet? _Again_?"

"Boys!" cried Ella, holding her hands up and wincing against all the arguing. She had never heard any of Snow's dwarf companions speak in such biting tones – Grumpy included. And certainly not to each other. "Please," she begged them, placing her hands on each of their shoulders. "There's no reason to fight. We're all on the same side."

This time, both men turned to stare at her. "Side?" said Walter. "What _side _would that be?"

"Yeah just what are you ladies trying to pull off here?" asked Leroy, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

Ella glanced warily over at Belle who shrugged. She didn't realize how hard this would be: being the only one 'in –the-know' after splitting off from Snow.

Rose cleared her throat, feeling strangely sorry for the girl and yet also relying on her as well. She was, after all, the only one here truly awake. "She just means," Rose started slowly, "that we're not…adversaries here."

The two men stared at her blankly.

"It means _enemies_, boys," Ella rolled her eyes with a smile, "and we're just trying to help some people who are…in trouble."

"What people?" asked Walter.

The girls shared another hasty glance. "Well, one," Ella said slowly, "we think is being held here against his will."

"Ashley," Rose scolded. _That _was hardly being subtle.

"What?" Ella hissed back. "We're gonna need their help and I'm…I'm through with lying to people who are important to me."

Rose was about to object when Walter cut in again. "Who, _us_?" he said, utterly perplexed by the young blonde who struck him as wise beyond her years.

"Yes," Ella wrinkled her nose, "you. _Both _of you are important to me." She gave each dwarf an affectionate shoulder pat. "Look, I know this'll sound…weird. But we were once…good friends. And I know we can be again. So if you're up for it, we could really use some help."

Rose held her breath, in awe now of the young princess as she watched the two men consider her proposal.

Leroy, of course, was already on board simply to cause trouble. But as he stared at Ashley Boyd, an odd bit of deja-vu came over him. He had the distinct impression that he'd been here with her before. A vision flashed in his mind – he'd seen that expression of hers somewhere. Somewhere just like this: a narrow hallway? No…_not _just like this. A tunnel? A…a cave?

Walter too had been moved to silence, and no one breathed a word until he reached toward Rose and snatched the scrubs out of her hand. "Here," he said gently, exchanging the small pile for another set on the shelf. "That was a double XL," he chuckled with a teasing glance at Leroy. "Would've have even fit _him_."

Leroy rolled his eyes but nodded. "So," he folded his arms. "What's the plan?"

…

"There," said Joe as he finished assembling the new splint. "That should take care of the pain and swelling." He'd switched out the hardened cast for a slightly more flexible splint. And though this visit was simply pretext for Adam's escape, Snow had to admit this brace felt a _lot _better than the cast. "Thank you so much, doctor," she flashed him a smile.

"Joe," he insisted for the second time that week.

"Joe," Snow rolled her eyes. "I know."

"You're welcome. Now remember, you _need _to stay off of that like I told you the first time."

Snow smiled wryly. "I'll do my best."

Joe gave her a stern look but eventually grinned as well. He rinsed hand wiped his hands, then turned and gave the split a satisfied grunt. "Well, all done here. Time enough to get to the festival for a cup of coffee?"

"If you like that sort of thing," Snow shrugged, casually reaching down for her purse.

Whale started. "You don't?"

"Bunch of homebodies gathering around the emporium pretending that they love this town's tired traditions and singing Koombaya by the Christmas tree? Hardly."

Her biting remark shocked him…thrilled him. He was fairly certain Mary Margaret Blanchard had been a faithful and enthusiastic participant in the endless caroling that always followed the tree lighting in years past. In fact, he recalled seeing her face amidst a crowd of cheery townsfolk polkaing around the tree and remembered thinking her the epitome of lameness. But that was the old Mary Margaret. The bland Mary Margaret. This new, feisty Mary Margaret even looked sexy in a leg brace. He ran his gaze up and down her form, taking note of the tight black leggings she wore (stretched up the one calf of course, baring the tiniest bit of skin) and her shimmery red sweater that fell to just above the knee with a black belt hugging her waistline. He shivered in anticipation, imagining how sweet the payoff could be tonight if he played his cards right with this lady in red. "So are you just…headed home then?"

Snow took a deep breath, having not missed his wolfish gaze appraising her. This was it. The perfect _in_. "Actually," she cocked her head to one side, "I'm gonna stop off in the cafeteria for a piece of their pie."

Whale's brow creased. Of all the places in town, she was headed to the hospital cafeteria? "There's plenty other places to get—"

"Join me?" she cut him off, slinging her purse over her shoulder as she stood.

Joe reached for her crutches and handed them over, still a bit confused. But after a brief pause, he gestured her toward the door and shrugged. _Why not?_ he thought. Cafeteria now, his place tonight.

…

Having had very few Storybrooke memories himself, James was incredibly impressed by the cacophony of sounds, the tapestry of lights, and the all-around merriment of the tree lighting festival. As he looked out over the railing of the Emporium's upper terrace, he couldn't help but wonder how or why the queen could allow such a joyous festival to take place in a town designed to hold them all prisoner. Surely this celebration inspired too much happiness for Regina's liking. Then again, it was entirely possible that the festival was shrewdly designed to keep the townsfolk in their place and prevent them from lamenting their broken lives too terribly. _This _scenario was entirely plausible: offer Storybrooke residents brief, fleeting moments of joy and entertainment so no one would ever wish too much for anything more.

Of course, his own ability to enjoy said festivities was an entirely different matter. While he could objectively note and appreciate the general good nature and humor inside the Emporium, where nearly every citizen of Storybrooke had come to sing and shop and laugh, James himself was decidedly anxious. While he stood here, waiting for the mayor to present him with this ridiculous commendation, Snow was over at Storybrooke General, trying to break Adam out of the psyche ward with only Belle, Ella, and an extremely cynical night guard for help. And with a broken ankle no less!

"Any word?" a voice muttered from behind. James turned to see Abigail coming towards him. He cracked a small smile as she hooked her arm through his, prepared to play her part for the evening. "No, but it's early yet. Snow's appointment wasn't even supposed to start until 6:30." Abigail nodded. "What about you?"

She shook her head. "Frederick and Marco are keeping their eyes open. Watching for any sign of trouble, but the whole town is here tonight, James. It's a lot of ground to cover."

James sighed. "I know, I know. Gods, I hate this." He leaned over, gripping the edge of the railing, and bowed his head. "I never should've let her go."

But Abigail gave his arm a sharp squeeze and pulled him back. "You couldn't have stopped her and you know it," she said with a chuckle. "Face it, it's one of the reasons you love her so much."

Armed with the truth, Abigail was a tough one to argue with. "I know," he conceded with a half-grin. "I just…I have a really bad feeling—"

"James," she said, her voice hushed, "Even if something does go wrong, it's still gonna all work out."

He let out another sigh, "And how do you know that, princess?" he teased, though his tone was still etched with doubt.

Abigail stepped forward and straightened his tie, taking a few moments to brush some stray lint from his sport coat. "Oh, because the fate of your true love is at stake," she said with a grin. "It's a battle we can't afford to lose."

This time, James broke into a genuine smile, recalling – as had Abigail, obviously– the night he'd freed Frederick from Midas' curse. Generally, James disliked having his own words used against him, but there was no debating the woman. "Works for me," he said, offering his arm once more, and Abigail hooked on.

A short while later, Archie joined them on the terrace. "Hey, have we heard anything?" he asked on approach, hands shoved in his pockets and glasses pushed all the way up his nose.

James shook his head. "Not yet. It's early though. She's gotta go through with the whole appointment before she can even try to—"

"Well well well, Doc 'opper," a man's voice sounded rather obnoxiously from across the balcony. It was Mr. Bridgeport, owner of the Emporium and unofficial host of the indoor portion of the evening. Townspeople came to his two tiered complex to check out the latest merchandise and holiday sales in preparation for the season. The Emporium itself was actually more of an indoor marketplace, filled with tiny carts and entrepreneurs, each vying for a little bump in business. At the very center of the structure, under a magnificent glass dome, was an impressive marble fountain shooting out spurts of water choreographed this evening to pre-recorded holiday tunes, and at each end of the fountain sat the base of the grand staircase that curved together at the second level terrace – tonight's stage for Mayor Mills's speech and presentation. James had been informed earlier by one of the festival workers that he and Abigail were to make their way up to the veranda by 6:30 for the start of the ceremony.

"Mr. Bridgeport," Archie said, squeezing through James and Abigail and moving to shake the man's hand. "Happy Holidays," he nodded.

"And 'da same tah you," grunted the portly gentleman in the oddly fitting top hat.

"Mr. Bridgeport, I don't believe you've met David Nolan?" Archie brought James forward with a firm grip on his shoulder.

Gunlief turned to James, his shoulders immediately tensing at the very thought of interacting with the man responsible for destroying his entire clan. But the queen had been adamant that he continue to play his part. "Only in passing. Glad tah know ya," he thrust out his fat hand and leveled his gaze.

James, who had been trying to figure out all day who this man was, clasped his hand and studied his face. There was some definite tension there, but he truly didn't look at all familiar. "Same here, Mr. Bridgeport."

"Oh please, no need da be standin' on ceremony," he shook the prince's hand but was unable to resist squeezing tight enough to break it. "Call me Edwerd."

"Uh sure," James winced, yanking his hand from the emcee's grip. "Edward."

"Well this sssertinly is an excitin' affair, _you_ bein' honored as a _hero,_" he tipped his hat, looking out over the veranda at the throngs of people below whose purchases translated into more money in his own pockets.

James noted Bridgeport's bitter tone, but before he could respond, they were interrupted again.

"I agree Mr. Bridgeport," came a chilly voice as Regina and Henry Mills ascended the grand staircase and joined them at the top. "An exciting affair indeed."

James's gaze darted at once to his grandson whose face was a sort of pale, sickly green. "Evening Regina," he said, though his eyes remained on Henry.

"Evening David. Kathryn, Archie," said Regina tersely. "I believe we're about ready to get started, Mr. Bridgeport. If you would signal Mr. Collodi with the lights please?"

"Sure thing Madame May-er," said the portly man before he slinked away.

Henry, certain by this point that there would be bruises on his shoulders from how tight the queen's grip was, hazarded a glance up at Regina. "Hey, Mom?' he squeaked. "Do you think I could show Mr. Nolan my new—"

"Not now Henry," she snapped as she guided her son toward the edge of the balcony overlooking the lower concourse.

Henry glanced back at James again, but couldn't even manage to mouth a warning before Regina forcibly positioned him right up against the railing. He knew why of course. Since the hospital, she had not let him out of her sight. Those other villains had it in for him, the cruel-looking doctor especially. In his entire (albeit short) life, he had never seen his adoptive mother looking over her shoulder so often.

Abigail felt the tendons in James's arm tightening so hard, he nearly crushed her wrist resting in its crook. "James," she whispered, tugging her hand free of his vice-like grip. "James!"

"Hmm?" he turned to her, then looked down and slackened his grasp. "Oh…sorry," he mumbled before turning right back to his grandson. Henry hadn't looked this scared since the night of that awful dinner. James glanced sideways at Archie. "Are you seeing this?" he whispered fiercely.

Archie, who was peering at his favorite patient over the rims of his glasses, was already nodding. "Let me," he whispered. "Regina," he cleared his throat, his soothing tone the auditory equivalent of a white flag. "Is um…is everything all right?"

"Fine, doctor." Though, of course, she was anything but. Rumpelstiltskin's warning, Henry's eavesdropping, council members threatening to take matters in their own hands, not to mention the nightmare that had prompted all this worry in the first place. She didn't know who she should be more wary of: Emma Swan or Dr. Fisk. She took one more crucial scan of the concourse and then tried to mask her nerves as she turned to Archie. "Are you ready to be officially proclaimed a hero, Dr. Hopper?"

Archie leaned forward for a glimpse of Henry whom the mayor was practically guarding. Henry looked up at him, but then immediately shook his head as if to say _don't make it worse._ "Uh, you bet," he said. "How are you Henry?"

"He's fine," said Regina, glancing down at her son and feeling almost guilty at the fear in his eyes. "We're both…fine."

The lights dimmed and she took a deep breath. It was time for the show to begin.

…

"Emma!" Graham yelled as he pushed through the clusters of people milling about just outside the Emporium. "Emma! Wait up!"

Emma stopped, but not because of Graham. She spotted a tall, brown-haired man picking out a scarf at one of the sidewalk vendors' carts. He had a girl hanging on his arm so Emma peered harder, but when the man turned more fully into view, Emma's face fell. Wrong guy.

"Would you just wait?" Graham said, catching up with her. "'Scuse me," he mumbled to a rather stout (and now peeved) woman as he pushed past her. "We called the number they gave us at the firehouse, and you left a message. Why can't you just wait for him to call back?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Because the whole _town _is here tonight, so chances are _he _is."

"Emma, please," he said, exasperated. "Look, we've done enough for one day. Let's just wait for 'im to return your message and then—"

"If you want to go home, Graham, no one's stopping you," she said, turning back into the crowd and marching off again.

"Wha— Emma, wai—just—will you hold up a minute? For the love of—STOP!" he caught up again just as she'd reached the Emporium's front entrance and snatched her backwards. "Listen," he said, spinning her to face him. "I hate to tell you this, but even if this fireman chap of yours somehow knows Shane like you say, that doesn't mean he can get 'im to talk any more than we could."

"And what if he can? Do you really want your buddy spending the night in jail just because—"

"He's _already_ spending the night in jail," Graham countered. "By _his choice _remember? This case is not goin' to be solved in one bloody night!"

Emma huffed and shook her head, but she couldn't deny the points he made.

Graham stepped a bit closer and softened his approach. "Give yourself a break, all right. And hey, look around you," he gestured to the groups of people scattered about, singing and shopping. "It's your first Storybrooke tree lighting."

Emma blew out a sigh but humored the sheriff who, she had to admit, had been trying incredibly hard to make her feel better ever since they'd left the station. Graham hadn't said a word about it, but Shane's comment about all the 'strange shit' happening since she'd come to town was hitting really close to home. He couldn't know _how _close of course, but it shined an incredibly unforgiving light on Emma's role in this mess. Like it or not, she was the catalyst for everything happening around here, good and bad. Perhaps indulging in what seemed to be Storybrooke's only joyful tradition wasn't such a bad idea. "Yeah…" she mumbled. "I guess."

Graham sighed in relief. "There you go, see? Find your boy, buy the lad some cocoa, and just _enjoy_ yourself."

She cocked an eyebrow, still feeling as if she should keep searching for Matt Clancy, or Michael Tillman for that matter. But the look Graham was giving her prompted her to stay put. In fact, she realized as he laid his hand on her shoulder, he hadn't looked at her like this in a while. Not since that night. The night he—

"Hey sheriff, whatcha waitin' for?" someone hooted just inside the concourse. Both of them turned to see the man Emma had briefly mistaken for Matt Clancy. Head-on, of course, he looked nothing like Matt but had a pleasant enough demeanor, and the girl still hooked on his arm was swatting him playfully on the shoulder.

"Oh leave them alone," she muttered, though she seemed quite tickled with amusement herself.

"No way, look where they are," the man replied, and by now the two of them had drawn a small crowd around the doorway. "Hey, I know you're new here deputy, but don't tell me you don't know what _that_ means," he said, pointing above them.

Graham and Emma looked straight up at the doorframe and to their horror discovered a rather gaudy sprig of mistletoe. "Oh, give me a break," Emma said, starting away immediately. Graham's feet meanwhile had frozen stupidly to the floor.

"Oh, I don't think so, missy," came a warm, robust voice next to her. Emma stumbled right into Granny who, catching her completely off guard, ushered her back into place beside Graham.

"This town is one big cliché, you know that right?" Emma muttered to the sheriff, face flushed and fuming, and she glared up at Graham as if this were _his _fault.

"Which is why we should just get it over with," he mumbled, feeling a bit queasy. Of all the ways he'd imagined kissing Emma again, _this _was certainly not among them. "Otherwise they'll probably tie us up with tinsel…trust me."

_God, how juvenile,_ she thought, but sensed on some level he was right about their impromptu audience. She took a deep breath and leaned in, closed her eyes more by reflex than anything else, and brushed her lips lightly against his. His mouth was soft and pliant as he kissed her back, but she could tell he was uncomfortable, almost apologetic. Before either could go any further, she pulled away and turned to the Granny-led crowd. "Good enough?" she challenged them. The group quickly dispersed, for the lights in the concourse were dimming. "Honestly," she shook her head, looking back to Graham…and then she froze.

Graham's face had gone stark white, his jaw slackened, his eyes bulging. He looked downright petrified, as if any moment he would start drooling, and he seemed to be staring right through her. "Graham?" she cried in alarm. He didn't reply. His eyes darted back and forth, searching his surroundings as if he wasn't sure where he was. "Graham, what is it?" His head snapped back to her, glaring at her now with such focus it almost stung. A handful of oblivious customers pushed passed him for a better view of the ceremony about to begin, and Graham threw himself back against the door frame as if reacting to serious danger rather than a few passerbys. "Graham!" she said again as he continued to stumble away from her.

"Emma?" he wheezed, sporadically locking eyes with her while still trying to get his bearings. "I…can't…what's happening…where—"

"Graham, look out!" she shouted, and the sheriff almost collided with another group of people. In anguish, he turned into the cold, staggering against the outside wall of the Emporium as he felt his way along the pine hedges. The further away from the crowd they got, the blurrier the images became. His deputy's cries sounded far off. She was shouting his name, running after him, but her calls were barely echoes. Pictures filled his head: Emma. Emma outside Regina's house. Kissing Emma. A wolf. A wolf with red-grey eyes. Mary Margaret. A storybook. _They're not dreams Graham. They're memories. _Emma again. Regina again. David and Kathryn Nolan. _Graham, please. Stay for dessert. Then we'll talk about that…other matter. I promise_. Outside the drug store. Emma's son at the drug store. Two more kids, orphans: Ava and Nicholas. _Mary Margaret. I'm sorry, we can't wait any longer_. A long drive. Someone…someone in the road. Flagging them down. A cop? Couldn't be; _he_ was the only cop. A city worker? They were too close to the city limits. A man. A man with a cane. _Graham watch out! _screamed the children. _Slight change of plans sheriff. Follow me. There's room in the Maine home for boys after all. _What about the girl? _She'll be well taken care of sheriff, you have my word. _Where's the paperwork on this? I demand to see the headmaster. An old man. An old man who walks with a limp. Who walks with a limp and is missing…a…a hand? _Certainly, sheriff, right this way. _A dark room. A dungeon. Cries of a dozen boys calling out to him as he's dragged deeper, lower. Very dark. Pitch black. _What are you doing to me?_ Where am I? Where are the children? Emma? _Emma!_

"Graham!" Emma practically screeched his name, but it was no use. His mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out. Every second that passed, he seemed to grow less familiar with the world around him. By now the two of them had lurched and swayed down the sidewalk that wrapped around the emporium to the back service driveway. One solitary streetlamp lit the area with a streak of light that shined unforgivingly upon the sheriff's haunted stance. Emma was mortified. She barely recognized this man who appeared to be sinking into an invisible abyss. His head twitched left and right, juddering and jerking like a broken animatronic. Why, Emma hadn't seen Graham this disoriented since—

She gasped. The kiss. True love's kiss. Last week after she caught him outside Regina's, he'd kissed her. Kissed her and then disappeared. She spent all day tracking him down, running into people who said he'd been talking crazy. Talking about magic, wolves…fairy tales. Of course! _We've always said 'true love's kiss is the most powerful thing of all'… what if love really is…magic?_ Her father's voice rang truer in her mind now than it had that awful day at the mansion. She couldn't say for certain that she _loved_ Graham. In fact, she was pretty sure this _wasn't_ love. But what if that didn't matter? _She_ was magic right? Love made into magic? And if _Graham _loved _her_…

Letting instinct take over, Emma rushed over to him, ignoring his incomprehensible mumbling as she approached, and yanked him up by the lapels of his coat. She steadied him, forced him to stand up straight and meet her gaze. And then she kissed him. Hard.

It wasn't a romantic kiss by any means. It wasn't gentle. But neither was it unwanted or forced as others had been. She fused her lips to his, kissing him with raw, unfathomable energy coursing through her as it had back at Jefferson's. Passion flowed through her veins as the coarse stubble of his beard scratched against her cheek. Passion, yes. But love? She didn't know. Couldn't know. But she _cared_ about him; cared about the man suffocating under the queen's control, fighting to be free. God, she hoped that would be enough.

Her eyes were still wide open, staring into his as the force of the kiss shocked them both. He blinked in disbelief, glaring wildly as she held him there, still kissing him. The effect was earth-shattering, for the pictures in his mind were still flashing rapidly before him and yet, the feel of her lips against his kept him firmly rooted to the ground. The images: He could make sense of them now. He could discern between them. He could remember.

At last they jerked apart, panting and sweating despite the biting cold. Thick vapors of air puffed from their mouths as they stared at each other, searching each other. Graham, no longer shrinking from her, registered the faint sounds of the festival in the distance, but they were drowned out by the beating of his own heart. Emma searched desperately for some change, some new development, though she wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. They stood there, frozen in time, waiting for each other to speak. But there were no words.

No words to describe the hurt, pain and suffering he'd witnessed. No words to explain the incarceration of two orphans he had _not _in fact driven to Boston. No words for why he had memories of the Zimmers he _knew _were false: images of them happy, even smiling in their new boys' and girls' homes in Massachusetts that never existed.

"More," he whispered, breaking the silence at last.

Emma blinked in surprise. "What?"

"More," he said again, his voice rough and impassioned. "I need to know more." And before she could stop him, Graham cupped her face between his palms, pulled her to him and kissed her again. Emma's eyes shot open, and she immediately clamped her hands over his wrists. But his eyes slid shut and he deepened the kiss, coaxing her lips apart with surprising ease. His tongue dipped into her mouth, hot and possessive, and she groaned against her will. She _wanted_ to push him away. She _needed _to regain control. It had been over 10 years since she'd allowed a guy to take control like this, and she tightened her grip on his wrists to yank him off of her. But something stopped her, enticed her, excited her. Gradually her eyes fell closed and her hands trailed the length of his arms and then up around his neck. Graham's hands slid into her hair and then down her shoulders, curving around her waist and then palming up her back. Emma leaned in closer, clinging to him with a sudden need to match his intensity and, giving into it entirely, tunneled her hands up through his wavy brown locks and arched against him.

In a flash of white light, more images careened into Graham's mind: A deer – a noble kill. The wolf. Two guards holding him captive. The queen dressed in red. An apple. Snow's apple. Snow White. Her tears. His dagger. Her letter. The queen's vault…his heart.

And he knew what it meant. He knew what all of it meant. He kissed her hungrily, tears streaming down his face as his entire identity was restored to him, continuing his pleasurable assault as every memory was returned. When at last there was no air left to breathe, he tore his mouth from hers and stumbled backward. Again they were panting, and again they held each other's gaze. But this time, Emma found her voice.

"Graham?" she said, hating how meek she sounded. But he'd literally stolen her breath away. "A-are you ok?"

"I remember," he rasped as the tears continued to spill.

Emma gasped, now blinking back her own tears. "You remember what?" she asked, hopefully.

With eyes suddenly as sharp and piercing as a hawk's, the huntsman gazed down at her, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Everything," he said. "I remember everything."

…

Snow quite clearly remembered the visit from Agrabah's newly appointed ambassador. Every royal in every realm had thought Sultan Rushdi's choice a bit odd at first: an ex-genie newly freed from servitude. Genies were notorious tricksters, and there were several in the land (one very close to home) with terrible reputations. But it was plain to see within minutes of his arrival in New Gaia that this genie was different.

Princess Jasmine had assured Snow in her correspondence that Genie was not only warm, caring and funny, but played an instrumental role in saving their kingdom _and_ helped convince Rushdi to let her marry Aladdin. Married to a former pauper herself, Snow could certainly understand how that might win her favor (Snow still couldn't wait to meet this infamous street rat who had managed to win Jasmine's hand – Jasmine the 'princess with a heart of ice' as most of her suitors called her).

Genie of course lived up to his reputation during his stay in New Gaia. He helped broker contracts, fix some of the mills that had been damaged during their recent season of storms, and even managed to teach James a thing or two about slight-of-hand before he left. Snow never mastered the technique quite as well as her husband, but she learned enough. Enough to get her through this evening and ensure the mission's success.

As soon as she and Joe Whale reached the cafeteria, Snow insisted he march straight up to the counter and get two slices of apple pie. She was afraid at first that he might object and ask for a different flavor, so she was prepared to improvise, but it wasn't necessary. Whale was so wrapped around her little finger right now, she could have gotten him to eat a watercress and liver casserole for all he cared. He was back at the table in a flash, chattering away about his new attending status, rotten hours at the hospital (not that he was counting _this _appointment of course, ha ha ha) and the gym he belonged to which— "by the way, has a _great _physical therapy program. You should think about joining once you're ready for that."

"Well, I'll definitely look into it. Thanks," she said, feigning interest while she watched franticly for the opportune moment. Any minute now, he'd take a bite of that pie and if she couldn't switch it out beforehand, the whole plan was ruined. She was seconds away from pointing somewhere behind him and crying "hey what's that!" when they heard a big bin of dirty pots and pans clattering to the floor and a buxom cafeteria lady start screaming her head off at the poor guard who had tumbled into her. As soon as Joe whipped around to see what had happened, Snow reached forward and made the switch, exchanging the cold cafeteria pie for the piece she had stowed in Tupperware inside her purse: A gift from Abigail earlier that evening – the same pie James had saved from his dinner with Regina last week…the queen's pie.

"Well," Joe chuckled, turning back around. "Wouldn't want to be _that _guy."

Having made the switch, Snow could now glance past him to see what happened. The lady was still muttering to herself, picking pans and pots off the floor, and the guard had stooped rather sheepishly to help her. Snow was about to turn back when the guard lifted his gaze right at her and grinned. Snow gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. It was Sleepy. Sleepy! The former dwarf had purposely triggered the distraction! Sleepy reached up and tipped her an imaginary hat before returning his attention to the mess he'd created. Snow was so moved, her eyes welled up and she had to fake a coughing fit to justify it.

"Hey," Joe said, reaching forward to pat her on the back. "You all right?"

"Fine," she coughed again and cleared her throat. She glanced back at Sleepy – one more ally into the fold – and grinned, "Just fine."

"Well," Joe forked a piece of pie and held it out before her. "Bottoms up!" he joked, and slid the dessert in his mouth.

Snow also took a bite of her regular piece, but watched Joe intently, looking for signs of the 'Storybrooke haze.' James had thoroughly explained his impromptu experiment with Abigail the night they came home from Regina's. As Henry had warned them, Regina's apples seemed to be laced with remnants of the enchantment, a sort of extension of the curse designed to restore minor breaks or infractions in its fabric. After James further speculated that a person already fully under the curse might be extra-susceptible to suggestion, had had implanted in Abigail a fake memory of 'David' and 'Kathryn's' first date within minutes. He felt a bit guilty about the deception _now _of course, having since discovered Abigail was an ally, but it certainly worked. It was Snow's goal tonight to implant an idea in Joe, one that would grant Belle access to the psych ward and ensure a smooth escape.

This, of course, was the reason James was so nervous about the plan in the first place. Too much relied on a theory hatched after one isolated incident (not to mention the fact that the pie had been sitting in the Nolans' refrigerator for almost a week). Snow studied the doctor intently, scrutinizing every detail of his face, peering into his eyes. But nothing seemed to have changed. He was now extoling the various perks of his gold-membership status at this gym, hinting quite boldly that he could arrange private swim hours for himself and a guest. Snow's heart sank. Nothing was changing. Doctor 'Flirts-a-lot' hadn't missed a beat, and prattled on boorishly as if—

Abruptly, he stopped, his hand halted in the middle of setting down his fork. Snow looked at his plate: he'd already finished the entire pie! She straightened up with renewed hope and met his gaze again. The doctor's eyes were cloudy and unfocused; it was as if the entire dose of poison hit him all at once.

"Joe?" she said.

"Hmm?" His face was utterly blank.

"You umm…you all right?" she asked. James had warned her to be subtle, to take it slow and test the waters.

"Yeah sure," he replied almost robotically as he set his fork down.

"You know, I never got a chance to thank you," she said with a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._

Gradually, some recognition returned to his gaze. "Thank me?" he asked with a nervous jerk of his head.

"Yeah you know, for helping out my friend Rose."

"Oh," he muttered. "Uh, sure."

Snow took another bite of her own pie, trying to maintain the normalcy of an ordinary conversation. "It's not every day the ER attending helps a girl secure her very first nursing position," she said as casually as she could muster. Joe did not reply and Snow's pulse started racing. She glanced up, trying to read his vacant expression.

"Her um…her first what?"

"Nursing, you remember," she said, striving to keep her voice from shaking. "Rose French, your new nurse? She just started today?"

"Oh," said Joe after more dead silence. "Yeah uh, right. No…n-no problem."

Snow resisted the urge to cheer. After all, she was only halfway done, but it was a good sign that the doctor didn't immediately reject the idea of an out-of-work bartender starting today as a nurse. "Yeah I talked to her a little while ago, and she said with the exception of her faulty ID card, she had a _great _first shift."

"Faulty ID card?"

"Oh yeah, you know how it goes. Technical difficulties." She was talking a mile a minute but strained to maintain James's voice in her head, urging her to stay calm, to keep it casual and relaxed. Otherwise the suggestion wouldn't take root in Joe's mind, and he would quickly figure out he'd been conned.

"What um," Joe shook his head, still trying to clear the fog. "What difficulties?"

"Well," Snow said with a slightly exaggerated laugh. "It's kinda hard being assigned to the _psych ward_ team without actual _access_ to the psych ward, don't you think?"

"Oh uh…right."

By now Snow could feel her heart pounding all the way up into her throat. Doubt crept into her head: _No way_, she thought. There's _no way_ this is ever going to work. But she pressed on. She had to. Adam's fate lay in her hands. "I guess you were right about old Dr. Stone," Snow said, polishing off the last of her own pie which sat rather heavily in her stomach.

"Oh?" Joe's head shot up, instantly intrigued. "How's that?"

"Oh, you know. _Very _handy surgeon," she replied. "But I guess not so bright with the techy stuff. Rose asked him to fix it for her, but he had _no _idea what he was doing." She loathed the way criticism of Doc sounded from her mouth, even completely fabricated malarkey such as this. It felt downright treacherous in fact, but her baiting had the desired effect. Joe's lips had curled into a cruel, smug smile.

"Oh well, don't be too hard on the poor fellow," Whale defended him, though so condescendingly it made her ill. "The old timers can't always keep up with the new gadgets."

"Yeah," she purred, and this was the part she'd dreaded the most. But it had to be done. "I guess we can't _all _be young, tech-saavy…sexy ER attendings, now can we?" Delicately, she reached across the table, brushing the pads of her fingertips ever so lightly along Whale's forearm, barely grazing the skin. He could hear his breath catch in his throat and when she looked up, his eyes were blazing. Snow decided this was also a good sign: focusing on _her _kept him from concentrating too hard on the idea she'd just implanted about Rose.

"No," Whale replied, taking Snow's hand between his own, smoothing his fingers over her skin with the same light caress as she had. "No I suppose we can't."

Snow wasn't sure whether she felt disgusted or victorious. Whale had fallen for every line, and the new fake memory seemed to be holding. But…well…he was _stroking _her. "Well whadya say you head upstairs and get Rose's card squared away before her shift ends," she reclaimed her hand and picked up her purse, "and then you and I head back to your place?"

Considering the fact that he was already mentally undressing her, Joe Whale was an instant fan of this idea. He practically leapt from his chair and scooted around hers to retrieve her crutches. Sweating at the very thought of his moment of conquest drawing so near, he coyly gestured toward the door with one of her crutches and murmured, "after you."

…

Ella peaked down the hallway and scanned the main nurses' station. So far so good: a fairly dead night as James and Snow had predicted. 'Walter' mentioned that most of the typical staff were down at the festival, so especially for so early in the evening, there was very little traffic down these halls.

Nervously, she glanced to the right, where, opposite the nurses' station, Thomas's exam room was. Grumpy had gone in a few minutes ago under the guise of having a message for 'Mitchell Herman' from the front desk. Snow and Whale had _just _gone down to the cafeteria, so she had a little bit of leeway time, but not much. "Come on, Grumpy," she muttered, watching the door and willing it to open. After a few more minutes, it did.

Ella ducked back into the service hallway and listened as the dwarf's footsteps drew closer. Within seconds, Grumpy appeared around the corner, followed by her father-in-law.

"Ell—, uh Ashley!" Christopher gasped in alarm. "What're you—" he looked straight at Grumpy. "I thought you said this had something to do with billing."

"_Mitchell_," she said meaningfully, "this is—" she paused, glancing down at 'Leroy' who despite agreeing to fully support their little jailbreak here, still had no idea who he was. "This is Leroy. He's a _friend_." Christopher glanced down at him (and Ella resisted a laugh, for she only just realized that her father-in-law had never actually met Snow's unlikely band of allies). He looked back up at Ella and nodded. "Ok? What, um—" he glanced back at Thomas's door, "What's going on?"

"We're here to help a—" she paused again. Sheesh this was hard! "Another friend. _Adam_."

The king's eyes widened. "Adam?" he spluttered. That was a name he _did _recognize.

"Yes," she nodded. "And Leroy here is going to help."

"So you two _aren't _really at each other's throats," Leroy muttered, his sardonic gaze darting between them.

"No we aren't," Ella said. "But it has to look like we are," she turned back to Christopher and led him a little further down the hallway out of earshot. "Snow's here too," she whispered, "and we don't have a lot of time. But I'm gonna use that time to try to wake up Thomas."

Again, the king started. "How? The doctors said—"

"Just trust me, ok?" she shook her head, regretting having to cut him off, but it couldn't be helped. "Remember when we said we'd have to keep…playing our parts?"

"Yes."

"Well that's what we're here to do. In a few minutes, Snow should appear at that nurses' station with Dr. Whale. I can't tell you everything now, but she may need us to create a distraction. If that happens, Leroy will give you the signal and when he does, come back in to Thomas's room and…and make a big scene, ok? You know – 'get the hell away from my son' and all that."

Christopher cocked an eyebrow and looked from her to Leroy. This was quite possibly the strangest conversation he'd ever had, but he nodded in agreement. If it helped wake up his son, he'd try anything. Ella smiled gratefully at both of them, took another quick glance down the corridor, and then headed into Thomas's wing.

Stomach churning with butterflies, she opened the door. She'd seen him like this before of course, but only as Ashley, and it killed her that their official reunion had to happen this way. The door swished closed behind her, and she grew instantly bothered by the brightness of the room. The florescent light buzzing from above seemed to exaggerate her husband's frailty and the effect irritated her so much that she immediately snapped off the switch.

Tears welled in her eyes as she approached him, thinking about the roads and obstacles that had led to this point. She supposed in some weird way the curse had a silver lining in that it had returned Thomas from Limbo, but the price they'd all paid for the rift it had wedged between them all was immense. She drew closer, ordering herself to be brave, unable to tear her eyes away from her beloved prince. The doctors had actually removed many of the bandages from Tuesday night. More of his face was showing and, although bruised and discolored, didn't look quite as bumpy or swollen as it had before. His right wrist was also unwrapped and his left arm was no longer elevated, but his whole body appeared clammy, cold and pale, as if his very spirit had been crushed by the brute who had done this to him.

Tears falling down her cheeks, Ella perched herself on his bedside, her right hip sidled against his. Gently, she took hold of his hand and held it up to her cheek. "Thomas," she whispered and squeezed, waiting to see if he'd squeeze back. He didn't. Frowning, she laid his arm down so that it circled her waist and then slid forward, placing her hand first over his heart and then cupping his cheek. He felt as cold and lifeless as he'd looked when she first walked in, and her heart ached at the confirmation of it. "Thomas, darling," she whispered again, brushing her fingertips along his cheek and down around his bruised jaw. "I know what it is you wanted to tell me." Again, no response, but that didn't matter. Since her awakening, she'd replayed every conversation of theirs in her mind. She hadn't needed Snow to confirm that Thomas had been awake all along; she already knew. It was there in his eyes every time she closed hers. In his smile, in his words – even in his voice when he'd called her not two hours before he left Garcon's, begging her to wait up for him because he had something important to say. "You were going to tell me everything, weren't you," she said, tunneling her fingers through his hair. "About the curse, about Christopher – everything." Again, she hadn't needed to confirm this with anyone, though James certainly could have. She just knew. She knew how long Thomas had had to keep pretending to be Sean – to keep living the lie so her mousy alter ego never freaked out or doubted him again. She was aware how relatively late she'd woken up compared to the others, and how many there were like Belle who hadn't yet remembered their own lives but at least knew about the curse. Poor Thomas, she thought with a sad smile. How frustrated he would have gotten by now. How desperately he would have wanted her to know him – the _real _him. The man who loved her by the end of their first dance and never again allowed her to return to that awful life she'd endured under Rodmilla's roof. "I _know _Thomas," she leaned forward. "I know everything now. It's me…it's Ella." Again she waited for some sort of reaction: a movement of the hand, a squint of the eye. But nothing changed.

She glanced back at the door, acutely aware of how limited their time was. Any minute now, Christopher might barge in and stir things up, creating sufficient enough a distraction to draw security away from the third floor. She had to act quickly, but doubt lingered in her mind.

There were about a hundred reasons this wouldn't work, not the least of which was the fact that Thomas had sustained his injuries _here. _In Storybrooke. Where there _was _no magic save for the queen's. This wasn't a botched sleeping spell or enchantment. There were solid, medical reasons Thomas remained unconscious: a brutal beating that probably would have just _killed_ him back in their world. But it was more than that. Despite it being 'the most powerful magic of all', True Love's Kiss wasn't technically part of _their _happy ending. _Magic may have brought us together but it didn't create this love. _Thomas had said so himself on the evening she'd revealed the extent of her deal with Rumpelstiltskin. Their love was real yes, and powerful. But could it somehow cure a bruised spine and fractured skull in the real world?

She turned back to her husband and sighed. There was really only one way to find out. With both hands, she cupped his face and gently tipped his chin up as she bent over and touched her forehead to his. "Come back to me," she whispered against his cheek, and then she kissed him. She brushed his lips with hers so tenderly, they barely touched, and she held her breath, expecting his mouth to be as cold and clammy as the rest of him seemed. But his lips were as warm and soft as always, and she relished in the memory, pressing her mouth more firmly against his. Everything about it felt familiar: the taste of him, the feeling that she finally belonged. She closed her eyes and instantly recalled that night on the terrace when it finally hit her that she would never go back to that life, that the fireworks igniting the night sky were for her. For _them_. The memory was so clear she could almost feel the cold, stale hospital room dissolve around her. She could almost smell the royal wedding feast below and hear the chimes of the tower bells. She could almost feel his arms tighten around her waist as he—

Ella jerked back, her eyes darting down. His arm…his arm had tightened around her waist. She looked up at his face, not entirely sure she hadn't imagined it. His eyes were still closed and his head hadn't moved, but – there it was again. The arm she'd laid down by her side had flexed, tightened again as if he was trying to hold her. She reached down and grabbed his hand. "Thomas," she said. "Thomas, I'm here. I'm _here _sweetheart, I'm—" and she gasped again, for his hand immediately closed around hers. "Thomas!" she cried, leaning forward. "Darling, can you hear me?"

Time seemed to stop as she waited for a response, his face still incredibly stale. Ella didn't even realize she was holding her breath until she had to inhale sharply to keep from fainting. "Thomas," she whispered again, desperate for another sign of life. "I _need_ you," she said. "Alexandra needs you. Please come back to us."

The wait was sheer agony, and Ella was starting to fear she'd imagined the whole thing. But at last, his chest heaved upward with a labored breath and finally, the young prince's eyes fluttered open and looked up into his wife's. "Ella," he rasped.

Ella wept for joy. "Thomas!" she cried, her shoulders trembling in heavy sobs as she collapsed against his chest.

Thomas wrapped his right arm around her at once, cradling her head against his shoulder, his fingers sifting through her hair as he blinked more fully awake. His eyes darted around over her shoulder. Where the hell _was _he? Why couldn't he move his left arm? Why was Ella—

_Ella! _he gasped, prompting her to pull back so he could hold her arm's length. He searched her gaze, frantic that he might've been wrong. That he was seeing things. Hearing things. But one look at her lovely, tear-stricken face gave him all the answers he needed. She was awake. She was his Ella. "How did you—when—"

But Ella didn't let him finish. There was time to talk later (albeit not _much _time, but time enough) and at the moment she hadn't any capacity for speech. Amidst laughter and tears she leaned into him, running her hands back through his hair, and kissed him again. He responded immediately, intimately, his hand drifting up to cup her cheek, tunneling through the blonde locks at her nape before trailing down her neck and collarbone. In his mind there were so many questions, _too _many questions. But in his heart there was only Ella. His Ella. At last.

…

Christopher peered around the corner from the service hallway with Leroy huddled close behind him breathing heavily. Christopher resisted the urge to gag, for his breath smelled of sulfur, and grease, and gasoline. He remembered seeing Leroy around town from a distance as Mitchell, but his Storybrooke persona never felt the need to approach him. He trusted his daughter-in-law though. If she said he was a friend, it meant he was a foe of the queen's.

"Are they still there?" Leroy asked, bumping into him as he strained for a view.

"Yes!" he hissed over his shoulder. The smelly mechanic had him watching Snow's progress at the nurses' station. It was clear to the king that the Leroy had only a vague understanding of what was going on – Ella calling him 'Mitchell' again was evidence enough of that. As far as he could tell, Snow White and the pretty brunette he'd called 'Rose' were enacting some sort of elaborate escape plan for which they would require a distraction. At the moment, Snow and Dr. Whale were at the front desk, hunched around the small computer terminal as he fiddled with a blank key card. Rose was dressed in nurse scrubs and a white baseball cap dipped rather low on her head and was waiting patiently for them to finish. So far, no one had given them a second glance, so Christopher was fairly certain that no one was onto them.

Christopher looked back at Thomas's doorway and gulped. The room was only about 20 feet away from their lookout point, which he supposed was intentional. And Snow's signal, Leroy explained, would be three rapid taps of her crutches against the floor (or "if all hell appears to be breaking loose" he'd added with a wink).

An exit door flew open behind them, and Christopher whirled around in a panic. Another night guard had burst into the hallway, but there was apparently no cause for alarm because Leroy seemed to be expecting him.

"Hey!" whispered the guard, coming up to join them. He gave Christopher a strange look, but quickly figured out who he must be. "How're we doin'?"

"So far so good," Leroy whispered back. "This is Sean's dad by the way. Mitchell, this is Walter." The men nodded briefly to each other before he continued. "She made the switch I take it?"

Walter straightened himself up with a proud tug on his shirt. "Right after I sent Ethel's dirty dish bin crashing to the floor."

Leroy punched him on the elbow. "You pissed of _Ethel_?" he laughed. "This had better be worth it."

"Shh!" Christopher scolded them as he turned back to the nurses' station. Boy, that Snow White was resourceful. How in the world she'd managed to procure allies that didn't actually know about the curse, he would never know, but he was certainly grateful she was on _their _side. The doctor was now handing Rose a key card. She took it and immediately turned toward the elevators, but someone rounded the opposite corner and slammed right into her. Christopher's pulse started racing. Even from here he recognized Sultan Rushdi's old vizier. Jafar bent his knees, straining for a better view of the woman beneath her cap. Instinct told Christopher that this man must not be allowed to recognize the nurse. The king didn't even wait for Snow's signal. Without a second's more hesitation, as loudly and obnoxiously as he could, he stormed into his son's room and started yelling.

…

"Thank you so much for doing this, Dr. Whale," Rose said as she glanced nervously at the computer screen where Whale was inputting the last bit of programming to the key card. She still couldn't believe that Snow had managed not only to convince the doctor that she was a nurse, but that _he_ had been the one who hired her. Everywhere she turned there seemed to be more evidence mounting up that absolutely everything she'd been told about this world and about magic was true, and – more frighteningly – everything about _herself._ Every minute that passed brought her closer and closer to the third floor. Closer and closer to _him._ The thought was both scary…and electrifying. Would he still recognize her? Would he be able to fill in the gaps in her memory? Would he love her even if she still weren't whole?

"There you go," said Whale as he yanked the ID card from its dock. "One All Access pass to the loony bin," he quipped, presenting it with a slight bow.

"Excellent," said Snow who was trying very hard not to beam as she stared at the card. The effect of the pie hadn't worn off at all. If they were lucky, they wouldn't need the extra diversion and Belle might slip in completely undetected. "Well," she cleared her throat, maintaining her charm. "Ready then?"

Joe was about to respond when a tall man rounded the corner. "Ah, Doctor Fisk," he said pleasantly, clasping the man's hand as if they were golf buddies. "I just took care of your little staffing snafu for you," he grinned, still showboating for Snow.

But 'Doctor Fisk' wasn't the slightest bit pleased to find Snow White hitched on to the ER attending's arm. "Excuse me?" he asked, shaking the man's hand but keeping his gaze fixed on the nurse he'd just collided with. There was something decidedly devious in her posture, in the way her face was hidden under her cap. He bent his knees, trying to identify her when—

"Security!" bellowed a voice down the east wing. "Security! I _told _you this woman was not allowed within 100 feet of Sean's room!"

And suddenly the Storybrooke General admin desk descended into chaos. Dr. Whale rushed down the corridor with two nurses in his wake. Snow hobbled closely behind, and Jafar's focus shifted away from the strange new nurse; he was acutely aware the disturbance had erupted in Prince Thomas's room – his first priority this evening.

Ironically enough, the only two men in earshot who actually _worked _for security had conspicuously disappeared from the east wing. In seconds they were beside Rose who sped away from the tall, black-haired doctor she remembered from Saturday. "You ready?" asked Leroy on her left as Walter handed her a small canvas tote he'd also "borrowed" from storage.

She nodded, but inside she was shaking. That familiar pulling in her stomach had not ceased since they'd first arrived.

"Remember, head straight for the fire exit at the end of the hallway," Leroy said. "Don't try to go back out through the gate."

"Yeah, we'll be in the stairwell waiting," added Walter.

She nodded again, but again didn't respond. And since Leroy and Walter didn't fully understand everything going on here anyway, they just shrugged at one another, took her as far as the elevator, and bade her good luck.

The psych ward was just as eerie and spooky as it had been the night she'd travelled here with Boo Radley and Atticus Finch. Dark and narrow, the corridor that led to the security gates seemed to get smaller and smaller as she approached. Clutching her newly forged ID card in her hand (that she was _positive _wouldn't actually work), Rose stepped up to the gate, inhaled sharply, and swiped it through the sensor strip.

A red light near the sensor box turned green, accompanied by an obnoxious buzzer as the gate slid open allowing her access. The buzzer startled her, and instinctively she turned toward the front desk, almost afraid the entire staff would turn and declare her a fraud right then and there. But there was only one nurse at the desk and no security (presumably because they had all been called down to settle the commotion in the east wing). The nurse on duty barely looked up, and why should she, Rose thought with renewed confidence. As far as she was concerned, Rose wore the exact same scrubs and had entered with a valid key card. She took another deep breath and headed straight for Adam's wing, walking as casually as she could fake. Her stomach pulled her the rest of the way, tightening and coiling up as she got closer and closer to his room. But when she walked inside, when she saw him lying on that same cot as moonlight spilled through the open window, her breath caught in her chest and the pain vanished. For the first time since Saturday, she finally felt like she was in the right place.

As she drew closer, Rose struggled to remember what Snow had told her about removing IVs and whatnot. She slid the cap off her head and set it and the canvas tote on a nearby chair, stepping right up to the railing of the cot and glancing down at the Velcro restraints. He was breathing deeply and appeared to be sound asleep, but upon a closer look, Rose noticed his face was not as peaceful or restful as she had expected to find him. In fact, his brow creased sharply in the middle, almost as if he were concentrating hard. She ran her gaze down his form, looking for some explanation of why he might be in pain. It was then that she noticed his forearm was flexed and his fist was clamped tightly around the tube feeding into his arm. In fact, if she didn't know better, she would've guessed he was actually trying to prevent the drugs they were giving him from entering his system by pinching the path of the tube.

Trembling again, she reached down, inching her hand toward his wrist. They were millimeters away from touching, and she risked another quick glance at his face before she closed her hand around his. "Adam?" she whispered.

Adam's eyes sprung open at her touch and she flew back with a shriek. He hadn't been asleep at all! "Belle?" he cried.

Rose struggled to regain her balance, her hand splayed across her chest, panting from the shock. "Oh my God," she rasped, still trying to catch her breath. "How are you—"

"Belle!" he cried again, struggling even harder against the restraints he'd been fighting against all afternoon. In fact, his wrists felt raw and tender as he started working and twisting them against the straps.

Rose returned to the cot to help him, unfastening the first restraint and then watching in awe as he used his free hand to claw at the other three. In another flash, he ripped out the IV, sprang off the hospital bed, landed his bare feet on the hard tiled floor with a resounding thud, and pulled his wife into his arms.

"Belle!" he cried a third time, rejoicing in the sound of her name as it soared through the air. "My love," he whispered, burying his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her. "My love, my life," he murmured over and over, holding her so tight he felt he might burst.

Overcome by _his_ emotions, Rose couldn't quite get a handle on her own. The ache in her belly was gone, and she finally felt whole. But at the same time, the reality of everything she'd been doing, everything she'd been convinced of in the past 48 hours came crashing down to earth. This was a man she had seen countless times in her dreams, a man everyone _else _insisted was her husband. But he was still a stranger to _her_. A stranger in a thin blue hospital gown she'd just sprung from the psychiatric ward. What the hell was she _doing_?

It had been years since he'd been able to touch her, to hold her like this. How _many_ years he could not say, but even with such a prolonged period of separation, Adam could sense the tension in his lover's arms and shoulders. Quickly, he pulled back, clasped her by the arms and gazed into her eyes. The expression there broke his heart: she was wary of him, scared even. Belle had not looked at him in this way since those first days in the castle…those days when he was still a monster.

Rose felt as if she were teetering on a very high ledge and only his strong grasp kept her from falling. "W-we…we need to go," she spluttered. "S-snow and James. They'll know what to do. We—"

"Belle," Adam shook his head, ignoring her. He lifted one hand from her arm to cup her cheek in his palm, and panic gripped his chest. "Gods above," he muttered, framing her face with both hands now and running his gaze over every inch of her, "what have they done to you?"

Head spinning beneath the intensity of his gaze, Rose struggled to hold on to some sense of order. The plan, she thought hastily, _stick to the plan_. "We really need to get going," she stuttered. "You should—"

"Wait," he pleaded as she started toward the canvas tote. He grabbed her hand and pulled her back, catching her other wrist as she stumbled into him. "Please just…tell me he's safe. Tell me where he is."

She blinked. "Where _who_ is?"

Adam brought her hands to his heart and brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. "Our _son_, darling. Our child."

Blood drained from her cheeks and sank to her womb. "Our ch…_our _child?"

"Yes, where—"

"You…y-y-you really need to ch-change. Here," she stammered, somehow wriggling out of his grasp again and moving back toward the tote.

"Darling, please—"

"We don't have a lot of time—" she rambled on, determined to ignore him. _Desperate _to ignore him. _Their _child? _Their _son? How was that possible? How could he know? Of all the ways she thought this night might have gone—

"Belle!" he cried, clamping down on her arm and whirling her back to him. "Please I need to know. What happened to our family? What happened to our son?"

Rose opened her mouth to respond but she had no words, only a frail squeak as he held her there, stunned into silence by all that his question implied.

"Belle," his voice was shaking now, his heart filling with dread. How could this happen? To have survived this long only to lose her now? She didn't _know _him. She didn't recognize him. She didn't remember they had a child! He peered into those deep brown pools welling with tears but could not see his wife. What had those bastards done to his wife! "Belle," he shook her roughly, determined she hold his gaze. "Belle, it's _me_!"

Instantly, a picture of Adam flared before her eyes, but he was not in a hospital gown. _Belle…it's me!_ he said again, but he was dressed in a tattered tunic, breeches and muddy boots. Rose gasped, seeing herself atop the west wing tower, remembering the blanket of stars in a moonlit sky. Hands shaking, she reached out and touched his cheek, remembering the story she'd read at Snow's yesterday, remembering her words…her line. "It…it _is _you," she whispered. And as she said it, more images flashed through her head:

"_When I asked you before, I was a monster. Now I kneel before you as a man. But I have loved you as both." _

"Belle," said Adam, gripping her arms again and steadying her against the sensations.

"_Your love didn't just transform me, Belle…You brought me back from the dead."_

"That's it, my love," Adam coaxed, "come back to me."

"_He's not a beast…he's a man…the only man I've ever loved." _

Rose's eyes slammed shut and she careened backwards. Memories transcended mere prose on a page, for she was no longer remembering the storybook…she was re-living it. Adam's firm grip prevented her from collapsing to the floor as she continued this light-speed journey backwards through time. She saw Adam once more, this time as the beast…

"_Belle…are you…happy here…with me?"_

"_Yes Beast. I am. Very happy."_

Waves of her past streaked through her core and at last, her eyes flew open…and settled on her husband. "Adam," she breathed through a watery laugh as Belle finally, blessedly emerged.

Adam clasped her hands again and peered down at her, searching for some sign of recognition that was painfully absent only moments before. He brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek and gazed hopefully…and then Belle smiled that radiant, reassuring smile she reserved only for him. "My dearest friend," she whispered, covering his hand with hers and removing all doubt with a simple nod.

Adam came undone. He hauled her against his chest and sealed his lips over hers, capturing her in an embrace so glorious she felt she might never again touch the ground. His arms wrapped around her waist as he swept her up into the air, his mouth meanwhile never leaving hers as if years of suppressed passion could be appeased with one kiss.

Whispering his name in between heartbeats, Belle melted into her husband's embrace, exploring, searching, relearning the contours of his face, the sad creases in his forehead – brought on no doubt by over two decades of torture and incarceration. She smoothed her hands up and around his neck, running her fingers through the long, blonde strands of hair tumbling down his back. The raw passion with which he continued to caress her was damn near violent in terms of urgency, driving him to deepen the kiss as he clumsily backed her against the wall. He was desperate to kiss her, to touch her everywhere, and she let out a soft whimper as he ran hot, molten kisses along her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks, her neck, all the while tightening his grip around her waist as his hands stroked up and down her back. When at last they pulled apart, gasping for air, Adam cupped her face, pressed his forehead against hers and again whispered her name.

Goddess divine, how wonderful it was to hear her name from his lips. She would never tire of it. How could she have ever not known him? How could she have looked into those eyes before and not been sure of who he was…of who _she _was.

For a few moments, they just breathed together, content in each other's presence, before Adam lifted her gaze up once more. "Where…" he gasped, "is our child?"

This time, Belle rejoiced in the question, for it was one she could now answer. God, how could she _ever _have thought it was _Gaston's? _She drew back from him, taking his hands away from his face and drawing them down to her belly. With a joyful sob, she laid his hands over her womb and then covered them with her own. "Right here, my love," she whispered.

Adam's eyebrows flew up his forehead as he wrenched his gaze back up to hers. "R-right here…you mean you're…you haven't—"

"_We _haven't," she corrected him, leaning in to kiss him again before continuing. "We haven't missed anything."

Impossible, he thought. One of Circe's tricks! She couldn't possibly still be carrying their son after so many years! And yet, the expression in his wife's eyes left no room for doubt. He shook his head, at a complete and total loss. Could whatever magical enchantment responsible for creating this horrible place have also somehow stalled her pregnancy? Stalled indefinitely until their reunion?

But emotion soon gave way to reason, and Adam sank to his knees in front of his bride. He would worry about _why _another time, another day. For now, he could only weep. His child…_their _child. He hadn't missed it. He would know what it was to be a father.

Belle could barely breathe as she watched the tears streaming down her prince's cheeks. She pulled him close, cradling his head to her stomach, and an agonizingly wonderful ache tugged at her heartstrings as she felt him press a tender kiss to her belly through the thin fabric of her scrubs. He wrapped his arms around her again, shaking with sobs as he murmured words of love and devotion to their child.

Even kneeling, Adam's massive height still came up almost to her shoulders. Belle smiled as she gazed down into his eyes, smoothing her fingers along the damp hair at his temples. "I love you," she said as she darted her head down and kissed him again.

Adam followed her lead, rising to his feet as she gently tugged him upward, and secured his arms once more at her waist. "I love _you_," he murmured into her kiss. "And I'm never losing you again."

…

*****Ooooooooookie dokie. Super nervous about this chapter going up but there's no sense in delaying it any further. Been editing and tweaking some of this stuff for literally a month as pretty much the last half of it was written before Chapter 30 while I was still in Italy. I know it's a pretty jam-packed chapter, but I figured we were due. Hope you enjoyed Graham's, Thomas's, and Belle's reunions as much as I enjoyed writing them. Obviously, Operation Cobra's strike team isn't out of the woods (and neither is Henry) but there should be enough in here to appease you for now. **

**For those of you super upset about Michael Tillman's alleged demise, I just want to say….I'm shocked. SHOCKED that you would take the word of a villain over ME! (For further detail, re-read author's note at the end of Chap 16).**

**I am about to embark on a huge home remodel in the next few weeks, but I do intend to keep going. Ciao for now and thanks for reading!**

**-Nikstl*****


	32. The Prince, the Thief and the Duke

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**The Prince, the Thief and the Duke**

Changing quickly into a janitor's uniform that was far too short and ill-fitting for the towering prince, Adam cracked the door open and peeked down the hallway. All was quiet in the strangely bright corridor, and he gestured for Belle to join him as they rushed out of the room and headed for the emergency exit. The stairwell was constructed from strange metals, not unlike the bars of the cot in his cell, Adam noticed. And when their shoes first collided with the landing, Adam started at the enormous echo their steps made in the narrow column of beams.

"It's ok," Belle smiled, taking his hand, realizing how strange the world must already seem to him and they weren't even out of the hospital yet. "Come on, the dwarfs are waiting downstairs."

"The dwarfs are here?"

"Just Sleepy and Grumpy, though Doc works here too."

Adam shook his head, deciding to process it later, and the two of them rushed swiftly and undetected down the stairwell. As anticipated, Snow's famously short companions had disabled the exit alarm and were waving frantically for them to hurry as they descended the final flight.

"Come on!" said Leroy as he stirred the air with his left hand and pointed toward the exit with his right. Walter was waiting on the other side of the door, ready to sneak them past the cameras.

"Sleepy, Grumpy," Adam said on approach. "Thank you for—"

"Whadid you call me, Mack?" snapped Leroy, his brow creased even more than usual.

But Belle didn't allow either to reply. "Nevermind that now," she hurried by her husband. "Come on. There's a place underground we can hide and—"

"We can't leave yet," Adam held his hand out to stop her. "Thomas is in trouble."

Leroy threw his hands up and huffed. "Who the hell is Thomas?"

"No, Thomas is fine. Ella and Christopher are in there with him right now. We—"

"In where?" Adam demanded, his eyes darting to the door opposite the exit.

"Look, Rose—" Leroy shook his head, thinking for the first time tonight that maybe it _wasn't _such a good idea to spring a guy from the psychiatric ward— "we don't have time for this."

"I know," Belle waved at him impatiently. "Adam, they're in there creating a diversion for _us _so we can escape. We have to—"

"You don't understand," he whirled on her, grasping her shoulders. "I _heard_ them. I heard them this morning talking about killing Thomas. Making it look like an accident. I won't allow it!"

"Adam wait!" Belle cried, lurching forward. But her husband was already through the entrance door and tearing down the hall.

…

"He's my _fiance_," Ella shrieked. "And Alex's father! How _could _you have taken out a _restraining _order?!"

"To keep you from manipulating him any further!" Christopher spat, careful to keep the smile tickling the corners of his lips from actually forming across his face. "Look at him!" he pointed at his son's cot. "He's in a _coma _because of you."

Thomas was back to lying perfectly still, knowing that 'Sean' suddenly waking up might draw the _wrong _kind of attention to his wife's and father's performance.

"Ashley, I'm sorry. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said Dr. Whale, guiding Mr. Herman away from the hysterical blonde. "He does have the law on his side here."

"Joe, how _could_ you?" spluttered Snow, glaring at him in horror and indignation as she wrapped her arms around Ella's shoulders. "Don't you know what they mean to each other?!"

Joe Whale's gaze darted nervously between Sean's father and Mary Margaret. _Dammit!_ he thought. If they had only left the hospital five minutes sooner. He hadn't realized she and Ashley Boyd were friends, and siding with the cold-hearted Mitchell was going to seriously diminish (if it hadn't already ruined) his chances of scoring tonight. "I-I'm sorry Mary," he tried to explain. "I don't have a choice, I—"

"I swear to God Mitchell, I will fight this!" Ella screamed, thrusting her finger at her father-in-law (Thomas bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing). "He wants to be with _me_."

"Well thankfully, you're not allowed within 100 feet of those decisions anymore," Christopher folded his arms tightly across his chest and scowled, trying hard to duplicate the alter-ego he'd very quickly come to loath. "Now get out!"

"All right people, that's enough," came a new voice. A chilling voice. The entire room turned to see Dr. Fisk glide through the door, towering over everyone. "As the highest ranking physician at this hospital, I insist that _everyone _clear this room immediately. None of this can be good for Sean."

Christopher gulped, glancing down at Ella and Snow whose faces showed genuine shock but bared no visible signs of recognition. He must be the only one among them who had ever met Jafar. "I'm not going anywhere," he blustered, trying still to maintain the façade of Mitchell.

"I'm afraid you have to. Everyone here is much too excited right now, Mr. Herman," Jafar sneered at the old king. He'd met Christopher once, years ago before he'd tried to overthrow Sultan Rushdi and was still acting as royal vizier. If only Regina had granted him permission to take out the _entire_ royal bloodline of Seven Gales tonight…

Christopher glanced quickly at Ella whose eyes were pleading with him to maintain their cover. Surely it wouldn't do them any good if _both _were banned from the hospital for bad behavior, so he must not defy the head physician. Then again, he couldn't imagine leaving Thomas alone with Jafar! "Please doctor," he managed in a slightly more controlled tone, though the tension and anxiety building inside him was no longer an act. "I will settle down as long as she leaves."

"Well no problem," piped up Snow, who maintained her grip on Ella's shoulders and started to guide her out, though she had not missed the shift in Christopher's veneer. "Ashley shouldn't have to put up with this kind of abuse," she added in her best biting tone.

Gradually, the scene died down, the nurses scrambling to put chairs in order and straighten Thomas's sheet while Snow and Ella slunk away with Dr. Whale close behind. Only Christopher and Jafar remained while Thomas was still 'playing dead' on the gurney. "Mr. Herman, I really must ask that you leave as well," Jafar demanded of the king.

Christopher drew a sharp breath. He'd addressed him 'Mr. Herman' again, and in private. Clearly Rushdi's old advisor wasn't aware he was awake. "I'm not leaving my son," he replied evenly.

"I understand that, but visiting hours are ending soon, and I'm afraid this place is only upsetting you."

"I said I'm not leaving, Dr…" he trailed off and cocked an eyebrow.

"Fisk," Jafar replied thickly. "Dr. Jeffery Fisk, and as the head of Psychiatry here at Storybrooke General, I should say that I think it's in _your _best interest as well as Sean's. We wouldn't want this ordeal to leave _you _emotionally scarred and unable to help your son…would we?"

Christopher narrowed his gaze, watching him carefully as Jafar practically slithered to the door, tapped it open with the toe of his shoe and checked the hallway.

Jafar grinned. The crowd seemed to have disappeared and the nurses were gone from their stations, tending to the flustered visitors and staff. The wing was completely deserted. Now if he could only get rid of the king. "Please," he turned back to 'Mitchell' adopting a more professional, more understanding bedside manner. "You've had an upsetting night, and I'm sure you'll want to be back here with your son tomorrow. Go home and get some rest."

Christopher glanced at his boy feeling sick to his stomach. He couldn't leave. It was out of the question. Not now that he knew _Jafar _was a high ranking doctor, and especially when he still didn't know if Ella had been able to make any progress with Thomas. At the same time, he couldn't draw too much suspicion from the doctor or they all might be discovered. "All right," Christopher sighed, reaching down to grab his coat off a chair. "That's probably not a bad idea." He'd hide downstairs for ten minutes. Yes. Ten minutes' wait in the cafeteria and he'd come right back up after Jafar was gone. The king took a deep breath, mumbled a private prayer, and then left without a word.

…

Thomas heard the door swish closed but he didn't dare open his eyes. This Dr. Fisk person still remained, his breathing heavy, his flat soles squeaking loudly against the tile as he circled the room. It was a joy at first for Thomas to hear his wife's and father's voices again, even if they were screaming at the tops of their lungs. And to know it was an all an act, that they were both in fact awake and reconciled, was a joy he'd not thought possible. But when Fisk had entered the room, even Thomas, with his eyes squeezed shut, could feel the tension spike.

The air grew stale, cold; the steady cadence of medical monitors pinged obnoxiously as he only just became aware of their constant beeping. Fisk drew closer and started…humming to himself? Thomas heard the slide of flesh on fabric and guessed the doctor was pulling something out of his lab coat. He heard a light tapping against something plastic. He felt Fisk lift one of his feeding tubes by the side of his gurney…and then he heard a menacing, bone-chilling laugh. "Say goodnight…Your Highness."

Thomas's eyes flew open just as the door to his room was thrown off its hinge and slammed into a supply cart. Heart thudding, he jerked his head to the side just in time to see Adam – _Adam!_ – seize Fisk by the throat and wrench him backward, sending the plastic syringe he'd been holding crashing against the wall.

Jafar barely had time to register what was happening before a rock hard fist slammed into his jaw and his left cheek made a nauseating splat against the tile. "Wha…who…" he blabbered, trying to focus through the dizzy spots clouding his vision as crawled across the floor.

"Are you all right Thomas?" Adam spared a moment to assess his young friend.

Thomas just stared open-mouthed and nodded.

Adam turned back to his tormentor, fully recognizing the man whose face he'd seen hovering over his own bed for decades, smiling devilishly as he administered potion after potion (_drugs _he'd called them…sedatives). Adam scrunched the lapels of Fisk's lab coat in his fists and hauled the doctor up to his knees. "Remember me, doctor?" he growled with animal ferocity. "Your favorite laboratory experiment?!"

"S- s- s-security!" Jafar yelped, though barely above a whisper, for Adam's grip around his collar was slowly cutting off his air supply. A part of him always feared it would end this way: Adam of Ebonshire, war hero and Circe's one and only failure, 28 _years_ his patient…ready for payback.

Adam plunged his knee into the doctor's stomach and watched him crumple in a heap to the ground. But the villain was still groaning so he kicked him again, striking him squarely in the ribs, over and over until he heard bones cracking.

"Adam!" yelled Thomas, futilely stretching his arm out from his cot. "Adam stop!"

Adam bent over to confirm the man was at last, unconscious, and then abruptly turned. "Can you walk?" he asked.

Thomas looked down at the doctor (whom he had at least managed to identify as Sultan Rushdi's old advisor before he was pummeled to the ground) and then back to the prince. "Adam…how did you—"

"Can you walk," Adam repeated, approaching the bed.

Thomas looked down at his legs, still covered with sheets. He squinted, concentrating, trying desperately to make them budge, but they wouldn't. "No," he shook his head.

"Then I'll carry you out," grunted his friend, bending over to scoop him up, but Thomas thrust out his arm and held him back. "Adam are you _crazy?!_" he hissed. "You have to get out of here. Now!"

"Agreed. And so do you."

"I can't."

"Thomas, they're trying to _kill _you!" Adam argued.

"And you just punched out a _doctor_. In fact _you_ might have killed _him_."

But the intended implication was lost on the older royal. "Which spares us all the aggravation of a trial for the attempted murder of a prince," Adam replied, frustrated by the fact that they were still _talking _about this. "You are still in danger here."

Thomas openly gawked, stuck for a moment on how to even _think _about replying to that when it was suddenly all too clear. "Adam, is Belle with you? Is she awake?"

"Awake?"

"Yes," Thomas frowned. "Does she…know who you are? Who _she _is?"

"Yes," he shuddered, still a bit shaken by the image of Belle's terrified face between his hands.

"You need to go to her."

Adam shook his head at the ceiling, hands settling at his hips. "We _will_. Once we get you—"

"No, Adam listen to me," Thomas grunted, propping himself up as much as he could on his one good elbow. "The world works differently here. This—" he pointed to the heap of Jafar— "won't be viewed as justice."

"He tried to _poison_ you—"

"And you're an escaped mental patient who just assaulted a doctor. Trust me, you need to go. Now. Belle will explain."

Adam was still glaring disapprovingly, but respected the young prince enough to trust his judgment. "There are more, you know," he warned. "I heard them conspiring this morning. They _will _try again."

"And now that I'm awake, it'll be more difficult for them to pull that off. Now please," he hissed, shushing him away with his hand. "Go."

There were already so many things he didn't understand about this world, so it was pointless to argue with a man who clearly had a better grasp of the rules here than he did (though why _he _should be cast into doubt just because this white-coated devil happened to be a _doctor _was beyond Adam's comprehension). Nevertheless, the attempt was thwarted and immediate danger nullified. He gave Thomas a slight bow of the head and then turned to leave.

"And Adam?" Thomas called after him. The prince paused and turned as his young friend glanced down at the battered villain on his floor. Then he looked again…and grinned. "It's good to have you back."

…

James wanted to enjoy the spectacle of lights, berries and tinsel strung from every cranny of Bridgeport's Emporium. He wanted to take in the sweet aromas of roasting chickens, scalloped potatoes, and steamed vegetables at the sampling tables, tasting the latest dishes from Storybrooke's best executive chefs and caterers. He wished he could simply appreciate the expertly timed water jets dancing to lively holiday tunes sounding through the loud speakers and gratefully accept the compliments of those offering him holiday salutations and accolades not only for his and Archie's citizenship award but for the tremendously beautiful tree just outside the Emporium, now brilliantly lit for the season and towering above the square.

Yes, James would have truly loved to take a night off and simply enjoy the festivities, but it was nearly 8pm, there was still no word from Snow or anyone else at the hospital, Emma never even showed up for the award ceremony despite Regina's promise that she would also receive a commendation this evening, and Henry…he glanced up at the terrace for the hundredth time tonight. _Henry _was—

"James!" Abigail hissed, tugging at his arm and urging him to turn away from the balcony where Regina still stood with his grandson.

Reluctantly, James tore his gaze away from the witch and forced himself to face Abigail. "What?" he snarled a little nastier than he'd intended.

"You need to stop staring at them!" she scolded, plastering a smile across her face as she was the one now facing the terrace. "The more you keep watching them, the more Regina will suspect that we know too much."

"She has kept him _glued _to her side the entire night!" James growled, clenching his fists tightly inside his pockets, making no effort to match Abigail's futile attempts at maintaining their appearance as the happily married Nolans. "She wouldn't even let _Archie _speak to him!"

"And glaring up at them from the concourse is not going to change that," she hissed back, determined to keep him facing her rather than the enemy. "Look, I can't even imagine what you're going through tonight with Snow not back and Emma missing—"

"And Henry—"

"Yes, and Henry," she nodded impatiently. Honestly, the prince was practically unraveling before her eyes and it unnerved her. If she'd learned anything about James it was his ability to keep a cool head, even in the most dire of circumstances. But as the evening had progressed, and it seemed more and more likely that every member of his family was in some sort of danger, James had grown increasingly impatient, damn near insufferable, and it was all Abigail could do not to smack him unconscious with a frying pan just to calm him down. "Look, if there's one thing we know about Regina, it's that she will do _anything _to _protect_ Henry. Regardless of what she may do to us, Henry is the only thing even remotely important to her – her reason for maintaining the curse—"

"_How _do we know that?" James countered, seizing her forearm and pulling her behind the cart of a rather provocatively dressed young woman, covered in grey leather and thick mascara, selling tinted glass butterflies and wooden wind chimes. "Can we _really _be sure of that anymore? We're talking about a woman who murdered her own father so she could get back at a girl who never truly slighted her to begin with! How do we know she wouldn't hurt Henry?"

"Because Henry fills the void left in her heart by her father," Abigail insisted, slapping her palms into his and clasping his hands together. "He's the one thing that keeps her from descending into total darkness."

"_Keeps _her from descending?!" James practically roared, though Abigail's warning glare at least prompted him to check his volume. "Gods, Abigail, she's already _descended_. She's way _past _descending. Think what happened to Thomas, to Adam. Jefferson even!"

Abigail closed her eyes and inhaled sharply through her nose. "I'm not defending any of that or denying the evil already poisoning her soul," she conceded, "but like it or not, Regina _loves _Henry. In her own way, she'll want to protect him just as fiercely as you do."

"Says the woman whose _heart_ she ripped out of her chest," James muttered before he could catch himself. The hurt that filled Abigail's eyes was immediate and the prince instantly regretted the remark. Mortified, he reached out for her, hating himself for such horrendous behavior. "Oh hell, Abigail. I'm…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that."

Abigail stared down at their hands, a clumsy joining of fingers and wrists that solidified just what an awkward pair they were. Just how clearly they didn't belong together. In many ways she envied James – he didn't have 28 years' worth of regrets for their ill-fated marriage. Of separation and near divorce. Of the pain in her gut she'd felt as Kathryn and the guilt that came with dutifully mourning her comatose husband while enduring the inexplicable relief at his absence.

"Please," James said softly, tipping her chin up, fearing the presence of tears rolling down her cheeks. But Abigail did not weep. And she was not angry. In her eyes were only sorrow and grief. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"I know you are," she said with a weak smile. "And you don't have to be. I _know _how scared you are for your grandson. But _trust _me, James. She won't hurt him."

James so dearly wanted to believe her, and with the wind having gone partially out of his sails of anger, he could see now how firmly _she _believed herself to be right. "How can you be so sure?" he asked, glancing back at Regina who, with Henry by her side, continued to scan the concourse with an eagle's eye. Luckily, he and Abigail were positioned behind the cart in such a way that she couldn't possibly see them staring now.

Abigail took a deep breath and laid her hand across her heart. "Because," she sighed. "You know when the queen took possession of my heart, she used it to control me. She made me insist on renewing our betrothal, forced me to reveal where you and Snow were hidden." James nodded; this part of course, he knew. "But in order to make me do all of those things, she had to…" she struggled with the phrasing, having never really had the occasion to fully explain it before or even put it into words.

"To what?" James asked, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze, a tacit reprise of his apology.

"To…make a sort of connection," she said, "like a link or a bond." James shook his head and her face screwed up in frustration. "In order to control _my_ heart," she tried again, "she had to open up a little of hers. And I could _feel_ it. I could sense how deeply troubled she was, how sad she was all the time. There's a hole in her heart, James. A…a void that cannot be filled." Abigail wasn't exactly sure where she'd heard or come up with that phrase, but she was sure it was accurate. "Henry is her way of trying to fill it. We have to be able to trust in that until we can get him away from her safely."

For several moments, James just stared at her, not at all sure of what to say. It occurred to him that he knew so little about Abigail, really. His first impressions of her were crudely warped by the queen's heinous deed, his faith in her character only recently renewed upon their visit to Archie's therapy couch. But even so, he knew she spoke the truth, saw it in her eyes swimming with the pain and regret of unwanted memories. "She really put you through hell, didn't she?" he said rather stupidly, for it was such an obvious assessment.

Abigail didn't seem to mind. "It's not important anymore," she waved him off, taking hold once again of his forearms and facing him away from the terrace. "What's important is that _you _keep that cool head of yours and we _don't _tip our hand tonight. Everyone we love is counting on it," she added, spotting Frederick lurking beneath the awning of a vacant shop. His back was pressed against the locked doorway while he watched them from afar, nursing a holiday ale as his eyes occasionally swept the concourse and landed back on his beloved. She flashed him a smile, trying to pack as much love and ardor into one quick gaze as she possibly could and then turned back to James. "Now come on," she looped her arm through his and led him away from the trashy looking street vendor. "Kathryn and David Nolan are known for _mingling _during this event, rubbing elbows with the Storybrooke elite," she winked. "We can't disappoint them now that we're 'back together'."

James groaned, having never enjoyed 'rubbing elbows' with _any _kind of 'elite' in either world. But he allowed her the satisfaction of thinking she'd put his mind at ease. Inevitably though, as the evening dragged on, he couldn't help his gaze from constantly drifting back to Henry – standing stiffly by the railing, making no effort to reach out or communicate with his 'Pops'. "Just hold on Henry," he muttered under his breath as Abigail embraced a smartly dressed woman near the fountain. "We're gonna get you out of there."

By 8:30, the party was in full swing, both inside and out. Kids were running around the tree sporting their brand new toy swords, foam hammers and plastic Captain America shields. A jazz quintet had set up in the gazebo and were jamming away, inventing new and clever variations on Christmas favorites with their reeds and valves. The catering companies had broken out a smorgasbord of custard pies, fruitcakes, covered strawberries, bread pudding and brandy cobblers that had lines of hungry carolers out the doors and looping around the emporium. But as 'David' and 'Kathryn' made their way through the crowd, fielding all sorts of questions from "how did you find the courage to venture out in those woods" to "do you think they'll auction off Teague's antique furniture?", the feeling of dread already sunken into the pit of the James's stomach intensified. He'd been checking his phone ever forty seconds and there was _still _no word from Snow or Emma. Surely she was through with her appointment by now. Surely if the pie hadn't worked, they would have aborted the mission and returned to the festival. And if it _had _worked, Snow's part should be over. What in the world was taking so long?

Lost so deeply in thought, James barely dodged a nearby couple dancing to a jazzy rendition of "Good King Wenceslaus" as he and Abigail strolled arm-in-arm near the tree.

"Oh, hey man. Sorry 'bout that!" said the tall, brown-haired stranger unfolding himself from the arms of a beautiful, buxom blonde. In the soft, dim glow of Christmas lights, it took James a few seconds to recognize him.

"Philip!" he spluttered reflexively and Abigail instantly spun to face the prince as well.

The man's brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "Uh, no sorry. You got the wrong guy, buddy."

"Right," James recovered quickly. "Right, sorry you just," he stammered, glancing down at Abigail and then back again, "you look like an old friend of ours." Philip shrugged him off with that characteristic ease of his and turned back to his date. James gaped at his long lost friend who _clearly _didn't recognize him as he resumed his enthusiastic boogying with the blonde who _clearly _wasn't Aurora.

"Jeez honey, you're right!" Abigail shouted above the music, causing Philip and his date to turn around again. "He does look _exactly _like Philip."

The man looked at them strangely as Abigail, completely ignoring his confusion, thrust out her hand. "Kathryn Nolan," she said with a hearty shake. "And this is my husband David."

Hearing the name, he perked up and turned to James, "Oh right. David Nolan," he said and then gestured up at the Emporium terrace. "Congratulations on the uh, the thing today. I heard you and Doc Hopper were getting' some sort of award."

"You didn't see it?" Abigail asked, squeezing her 'husband's' arm.

He opened his mouth to answer but the blonde tapping her foot behind him cut in. "Matt just got here," she explained, smoothing her hand over his sleeve. "He had a late shift at the fire house."

James flashed immediately back to his conversation with Emma and the pieces all fell into place. "Oh, so _you're_ Matt Clancy?" he asked, reeling from the discovery. _Philip _was one of the paramedics who treated Thomas?

"Uh, yeah," said Matt, still looking at them both a little tentatively. "Do I…_do _I know you?"

"Not exactly," James chuckled. "Emma Swan mentioned you today. We were talking about Sean Herman." At the mention of Emma, Philip seemed to momentarily forget about his clingy date, and he turned more fully toward James, a rather stupid grin splitting across his face.

"Emma Swan," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "Yeah she was talkin' to me about that too. You know what, speaking of," he paused and strained his neck over the crowd, sweeping his gaze across the square. "Is she here tonight?"

"Who Emma?" asked Abigail.

"Yeah."

James's eyes narrowed to incredulous slits. He knew that look. He'd seen that look before. "No," he said tightly. "No I don't think so. In fact, I'm pretty sure she's working late."

"Ma-att," whined the blonde behind him, tugging on his arm. "Come on, I want to dance before I have to go on stage."

"On stage?" asked Abigail.

"Oh," said Matt, a little embarrassed now as he coaxed his reluctant date forward for a formal introduction. "Sorry, this is Donna Andersen. One of the Andersen Sisters."

To James, this name meant absolutely nothing, but Abigail actually grew giddy. "Oh of course!" she said finally recognizing the woman and shaking her hand. "Are you all performing again this year?"

Donna gave her a polite smile. "Not all of us," she replied coolly, a twinge of resentment in her voice. "In fact, it'll be mostly Marina soloing. Lottie and I are doing a few duets at the end."

"Well, you're all so talented," Abigail said with a wave. "We look forward to it every year, don't we sweetie?" She turned to James and for a moment was genuinely surprised to find him looking clueless. "Oh!" she gasped and then laughed. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you've heard of my husband, the _amnesiac_," she slugged him playfully on the shoulder. "Honey, the Andersen Sisters are a singing act. They perform at that nightclub down by the pier, remember? Ugly Duckling?"

James pulled a face so sour that Philip actually laughed. "Someone named a nightclub _Ugly Duckling_?"

"Yeah, I was skeptical at first too, man," said Matt, clapping a hand down on David's shoulder. "But don't let the name scare you off. Good food," he paused to run an appraising gaze over Donna, "_great _service."

"Uh huh," James nodded, glancing up from beneath his brow. So Philip had definitely reverted to form. Perfect.

"And fantastic entertainment," added Abigail with a flattering nod to Donna. "Truly, Jam—uh, David," she gulped. Thankfully, the other couple didn't notice. "They really are amazing."

"Well," James cleared his throat, stepping back from the couple. "I'm looking forward to it. You two enjoy the rest of the festival ok?"

"Will do," replied Matt, then leaning in a bit closer, "and if you do see Emma Swan around here, tell her I've got some information for her."

"Right," James said dryly as the two twirled away to a ramped up version of "Jingle Bell Rock." He watched them go, rolled his eyes and gave Abigail a gentle tug, continuing their stroll in the opposite direction.

"So," Abigail smirked, "that's Prince Philip huh?" James gave her a sideways glance, but she couldn't help laughing. "His reputation precedes him."

James sighed. "You know, he _did _change after he married Aurora. Obviously she's not part of his life _here_."

Abigail's smirk turned into a half-frown. "Not yet anyway." She looked around, half expecting Aurora herself to appear. She'd never actually met Philip before, but she knew Aurora when they were young. "Any idea where she might be?"

James shook his head, let out another frustrated huff and swiped a slightly sweaty palm through his hair. "No and I wouldn't even know where to start." He looked down at her. "I don't suppose you remember seeing _her _at—" he paused and made another face— "_Ugly _Duckling."

Abigail laughed and shook her head. "You know it's really not as bad as it sounds."

"Well that's good, because it _sounds _just likea tavern that Philip would have taken me to."

"It's not a tavern," she chided. "It's a lounge. A pretty ritzy one too actually. All the clubs and shops down by the pier are pretty high-end. And the Andersens really _are_ a singing group. They're very good. In fact," she remembered, holding out her index finger up with a decided _ah-ha _flair, "you use to really enjoy them…you know, as David."

James gave her an obligatory nod, shrugged and resumed his scan of the crowd. Absent the distraction of Philip, his stomach was right back to churning as minutes continued to fly by without any word from his family. Truthfully, he could not care less about a group of lounge singers who—

"Ladies and gentlemen," a deep, husky voice sounded over the loud speakers, sending a rippling hush over the throngs of people gathered near the tree. James and Abigail turned toward the gazebo where a very large-breasted woman dressed in a shimmering satin evening gown (that was _way _too light to be wearing outdoors) had stepped in front of the quintet and seized a microphone. The musicians were busily changing sheet music while the husky woman cleared her throat. "Good evening and thank you for your continued patronage at the annual Storybrooke Tree Lighting ceremony."

Her salutations were met with warm applause and a few whoops and hollers from the more enthusiastic youths as a sense of anticipation settled over the crowd, but James couldn't help feeling a little wary of this silver-haired woman. There was something cold and steely in her gaze, almost synthetic.

"It is my great pleasure to introduce to you, back by…popular demand—" again more whooping and hollering, though to James she sounded almost bitter about it— "Ugly Duckling's favorite little star, Marina Andersen."

James glanced around as waves of people flooded the square, huddling together in one giant clump near the gazebo. Even people who had stayed inside the emporium almost the entire evening to keep warm came outside to hear this Marina woman sing. He looked down at Abigail who was clapping vigorously.

"I didn't want to say anything to Donna," she said, leaning over to mutter in his ear as the roar of the crowd increased. "But Marina really is the best singer."

James nodded and was about to suggest that maybe now was a good time to split up and search for allies when the silver-haired lady on stage stepped aside to reveal a lovely, demure young princess posed behind the microphone stand. Marina nodded to the larger woman who handed her back the mic. She slid it into the stand and the crowd heard the unforgiving scraping and popping of substandard sound equipment, but they didn't care. The quintet had just started the intro to "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas", clearly an audience favorite, and Marina stepped up to sing.

James was fairly certain of who it was already: heart-shaped face, sapphire eyes, rich auburn hair peeking out from underneath her white wool cap. Why even clad in an aquamarine parka, blue jeans, and suede boots, he recognized her stance – still slightly awkward on her legs, her feet turned inward, though her knees were no longer wobbly. Yes, he was almost positive, but any remaining sliver of doubt evaporated when she started to sing. Pure, crystal tones with a hint of soul – rich, mesmerizing octaves that could easily lure naval captains from their posts and make fishermen stray from their wives.

But hers was not the song of sirens. Sirens sang to entice and deceive and capture. Ariel? The "Little Mermaid"? She sang for the joy of it.

"Doesn't she have the most beautiful voice?" Abigail whispered, nudging him on the arm.

James nodded, picturing vividly that fateful afternoon when, as a youth, he'd wandered too far from the farm and came across Triton's daughter in the middle of what looked to be a heated discussion between herself, a guppy and a seagull. The seeds of an unlikely friendship were planted that day, long before he'd ever met Snow or King George for that matter. He had wondered since his awakening what had become of his aquatic friend since his awakening. It was a joy to see that she still had her voice.

"James?" Abigail nudged him, looking expectantly since he hadn't answered.

"Sorry, yes," he said. "Beautiful."

But Abigail could tell much more lurked behind his stare. "What is it?"

He looked down. "I take it you don't…recognize her?" She shook her head. "That's Ariel of Atlantica. Princess of Lochmere?"

Abigail gaped, juddering her gaze back and forth between him and Marina. "No!" she cried, but James was already nodding. "Ariel? Th-the 'Little Mermaid'?"

A smirk snuck across his face. "And she likes being called _that _about as much as Snow likes 'fairest'."

"You _know _her?"

"We met when we were young."

"How? When?!"

But James just sighed. "A long time ago." He surveyed the crowd, looking for a certain black-haired youth who he knew should be equally as thrilled to hear Ariel singing again. But Eric was nowhere in sight. He must be here somewhere though, the whole town had gathered for this little yuletide clambake and he wasn't about to squander an opportunity to bring them together if he could find—

Something else caught his eye: movement in the shadows beyond the gazebo, lit by the soft glow of Christmas lights and the candles of carolers. A woman observed the scene from afar, partially hidden beneath the overhang of the flower shop that completed the square opposite the Emporium. She was listening to Ariel's angelic voice, lightly swaying to its soft and somber melody…and resting her chin on her gloved hands folded atop her padded crutches. "Snow," he said in a heated whisper.

Abigail followed his gaze across the square and then glanced behind her. They were almost 100 feet away from the Emporium doors, but could still see the faint silhouette of Regina looking imperially over the concourse below. There would be no way for her to see the flower shop from here. "Go," she said, giving him a friendly poke. James immediately obeyed.

Snow spotted him too, and as he approached, she slunk around the side of the flower shop, completely out of view of the square. In seconds James rounded the corner and scooped her up into a fierce hug. Overwhelmed with relief, James clung to her so tightly her feet barely touched the ground.

"I take it you missed me?" she teased him.

But as James pulled back, he couldn't quite conceal the magnitude of his fears nor the awful frustration from having to sit on the sidelines while everyone else seemed to be in danger. "What happened? Is everyone ok?"

Snow laid a hand aside his face and smiled. "Everyone's fine. Belle is awake, Adam is free, Grumpy _and _Sleepy have joined the fight and all four of them are headed for the cottage."

James let out a breath he felt he'd been holding for hours. He reached up and clasped her gloved hand in his own. "And…Thomas?"

Snow beamed, having saved the best news for last. "Conscious. And completely relieved to find his _whole_ family awake."

James couldn't contain himself any longer, not with so much good news in one sitting. He gripped her shoulders and pulled her up to him, fastening his lips over hers in a kiss that was both raw in need and at the same time heavenly. Snow moaned against him, matching his enthusiasm as she slid her tongue along the soft contours of his mouth. Deepening the kiss, she skimmed her hands inside the wool lapels of his coat and around his chest, loving the way her embrace eased the tension in his back and shoulders as she smoothed her palms up his back.

Having her here again, safe and sound, was a balm of such intensity it nearly drove away every other concern he'd had this evening. But gradually, reality intruded and he loosened his grip, pulling back and, framing her face in his hands, pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm glad you're safe," he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

Snow gave him an extra squeeze for good measure, locked her arms around his middle, and lifted her gaze to meet his. "Likewise. How is everything here?"

James threw a sideways glance around the corner and sighed. "Well? Regina has kept Henry glued to her side all night, there's no sign of Emma…_or_ Graham for that matter, Ariel apparently sings at a place _actually _called 'Ugly Duckling', and Philip is dating one of her sisters." James felt Snow's grip slacken as her mouth fell open in shock. "So…yeah," he said with a light chuckle as he tucked a loose strand of her hair back under her cap. "I've missed you."

…

Hot nervous prickles of anxiety tingled beneath Emma's skin as she listened to Graham's hazy account of his faked trip to Boston. She knew, of course, that Thomas, Christopher, Ella – and now hopefully Belle – had all awoken, but Graham was the first one she'd ever actually witnessed coming out of the curse. He was disoriented at first, though kept himself much more steadied and…well…_sane _than the last time. In the past hour, he'd unloaded more of his story than she could ever have read in the book, but the fragments of information he had on the Zimmer children, at least from Emma's perspective, were in some ways more frustrating than the total lack of info she'd had before.

"So you _know _you didn't actually make it to Boston, but—" she paused, her hands shaking a bit before she continued – "you have no idea where this other boys' home is?"

Graham shook his head. "I was ledthere by a man who claimed to be working for the state. We followed the bloke through the forest, and by the time we arrived, we'd taken so many turns, I couldn't even tell which way was north, much less where we were in relation to the town."

Emma brought her hands to her hips, air puffing out from her mouth in cloudy vapors as she paced the same two blocks of sidewalk beneath a lone street lamp not far from the emporium. "And what about Shane Pilfer? Do you know who he is now? Or…_was_?"

Again, Graham shook his head, his face flushed with embarrassment for having to give such disappointing answers. "No," he said quietly. "No, I only know him from here. From Storybrooke."

Emma inhaled slowly, trying to sort through her very cluttered mind. There was simply too much to keep track of. Graham was awake – the huntsman – the man without whom Emma surely wouldn't even exist had he not spared her mother. The Zimmer kids were indeed somewhere still in Storybrooke, hidden quite well no doubt within that godforsaken forest. But even having released Graham from the curse, Emma still had no leads on Michael Tillman or Shane Pilfer – two cases that, despite tonight's extraordinary developments, were no closer to being solved.

"I'm sorry Emma," said Graham.

Emma's head snapped up. "Why?" she asked in surprise and only then realized how frustrated she must look.

"Because I know what losing those kids did to you," he said evenly. Emma's breath hitched in her throat as he stepped closer to her. "And I know what finding them would mean to you now."

Pulse racing, Emma decided to ignore the fierce gaze in his eyes as she turned from him, shivering in the cold that bit so harshly at her face her nose and ears had gone numb. They probably should have headed inside by now, but both seemed to be intuitively distrustful of the eyes and ears of Regina sure to be lurking about the festival tonight. "It's not your fault, Graham." She paused and turned back, suddenly pensive. "_Graham_…is that…well, I mean the book just calls you 'the huntsman'. Was your name Graham back _there_ too?"

A small smile broke his solemn gaze and he drew back. "Huntsman _was _my name. It's the only thing most humans in that world ever…understood about me."

Emma gulped as she processed this reply. "You were raised by wolves though, right?" she asked, cupping her fists to her mouth and blowing hot air into her palms. "Did _they_ give you a name?"

His smile widened, quite warmed by Emma's interest in his past. "Not…in the way that you understand names."

Emma furrowed her brow and crossed her arms. "Huh?"

He laughed. "Wolves are not identified by names or physical traits. They're defined by their position in the pack. What you were _called _depended upon your role within the hierarchy."

She stared at him, blinking in amazement. "So…what were you called?"

The sheriff let out a tired sigh as he lifted his eyes to the tops of frosted evergreens at the forest's edge. Emma followed his gaze, only just realizing how much of the town was bordered by woods. She looked back at Graham whose face had tightened with grief as he answered "The closest translation would be…Lone Survivor."

Emma caught her breath again and she bowed her head. What had happened to Graham's pack if he was the _lone _survivor? "I…I see," she mumbled, struggling to look up again. When she finally did, Graham was now glaring at the wood, his expression no longer sad.

"That's it," he whispered.

"What?"

"That's it!" he cried again, and without further explanation he tore off for the forest.

Emma had a hell of a time keeping up with him as they raced through the maze of trees and fallen trunks. Was _this _Graham…_faster _somehow? She tried a few times calling after him, begging him to stop or at least slow down, but whatever the huntsman's target, he was not to be deterred, derailed or distracted. Panting and clutching her stomach as it cramped from exhaustion, Emma forced her legs to keep moving as her boots fell heavily along the frozen trail. And when at last she felt she could go no further, the sheriff finally…blessedly stopped.

"What," – gasp – "are you," – cough, cough – "looking for?" she wheezed.

"A friend," Graham replied as he scanned the area.

Emma meanwhile bent over and braced her hands over her knees, gasping for air and fisting the sweated up material of her shirt to her chest. At least she wasn't cold anymore. "What…what friend?" she panted, glancing at the fallen trees beside her. "Better not be another damn horse," she muttered. But when she looked up, the answer was clear.

Perched atop a flat rock jutting out over a frozen pond was a wolf: A massive, grey and white beast with a slightly worn pelt and one red eye peering down at them from his throne. His fury chest heaved in and out in slow, patient breaths. Graham he seemed to know, but of Emma he was wary. She gulped, unable to breathe though it had nothing to do with their hurried race through the woods. He was studying her, cocking his head from one side to the other, every now and then looking over to Graham and then back again. At last, she seemed to have his approval, for he leapt from his perch, the pads of his feet landing softly on the forest floor, and came to rest before Graham.

The huntsman crouched down, leveling his gaze with his canine friend. Emma watched in awe as the two eyed each other carefully, the wolf extending one paw and placing it in Graham's palm. The wolf blinked, his eye lids opening and closing heavily over his scarlet iris as Graham softly stroked the mottled fur over his paw. Emma's own eyes prickled hotly as she watched them, humbled…and honored to be witnessing this elegant form of communication.

After a while, Graham touched his forehead to the wolf's and then rose from the ground. The regal animal bowed his head, turned it once more to glance at Emma, and then scampered away. Graham watched it until it disappeared over a hill and faded into darkness. Only then did Emma dare to approach.

"Graham?" she said softly, reaching out to touch his elbow.

Graham maintained his gaze over the twilit glade. "He'll find them," he said.

"Them?" she stuttered, looked out over the open forest, and then gasped. "_Them _the kids?" she cried, figuring it out. "The _Zimmers_ them?"

"And much faster than I could," he nodded, and then finally turned to her. "When he's ready, he will find you. He knows to trust you now, as he trusted your mother a few nights ago."

Emma shook her head, her brain spluttering from overstimulation. "My mother? Wh— he'll find—what?!"

"I need to get back," he said solemnly and turned toward town.

"Hey!" she called after him, bringing him to a halt. He stopped, his shoulders sagging a bit as she stomped over and demanded his attention. "What the hell is going on? What do you mean he'll find _me_. He'll trust _me_. Where the hell are _you _gonna be?"

"Emma," Graham began.

But Emma sucked in a breath. She was starting to really _hate _the way everyone lately started every sentence with _Emma…_ "Why can't we just follow him now?" she asked. "If he can track them, we could bring them back tonight, and then get back to town and deal with Shane and Jack and—"

"You don't know the forest like I do, Emma," Graham held his palms up in supplication. "There are literally hundreds of acres of woods here, hundreds of paths and streams and tributaries that few in Storybrooke have even attempted to explore. And those who have paid dearly for it."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed and gestured toward the town, beckoning her to follow him back. "This isn't the first time I've been awake, Emma," he said as they started walking.

Emma shot him a glance as she shoved her hands in her pockets. "What?!"

"I've awoken once before. In fact, I think it's happened a few times, but never as fully as a few years ago."

"Whadyou mean?"

Graham sighed. "You were right to ask about Shane Pilfer. I wish I _did _know more about his life in the old world. It would certainly explain why I always felt compelled to help him." He glanced down and started kicking a stray stone along the path. Emma spotted it and started kicking it too. "A few years ago, I picked up Shane for petty theft. He'd been shoplifting from the drug store, and Regina wanted me to book him as a repeat offender and bring him up on the harshest charges." Emma clenched her fists tight inside her pockets as she listened. "I fought her on it. Insisted that all Shane needed was a stern talking-to and for someone to give him a second chance."

"Bet she was _thrilled _to hear that," Emma mumbled. "What'd she say?"

"There was nothing she could say. I was right. Sat down with Shane, had a heart to heart, and then I brought in his wife."

"Jade?"

"Yes. She had filed for divorce but it wasn't final yet. Things used to happen very…slowly in Storybrooke. Before you came," he glanced sideways at her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the rock they were now competing to keep on the path. "Jade and Shane came this close to a reconciliation that day," he went on, staring off into the memories. "I unlocked his cuffs, she took him by the hand and the last thing I remember is the two of them headed for home to give it one more try."

"The last thing you…remember?" Emma gulped.

"Well, the last thing 'Graham' was allowed to remember anyway."

Emma shuddered. Hearing Graham refer to himself in the third person made this all suddenly seem even more real.

"Seeing the two of them happy, willing to trust each other again," he explained, "seeing Jade refuse to give up on him even when she'd already suffered so much heartache…it – it did something to me, Emma. It renewed my own faith. Faith in other _people_…something with which I constantly struggled in my own life."

Emma nodded, remembering the story. She wouldn't soon forget the tale of the huntsman who had been sent to rip out her mother's heart and well would have had she not restored his faith in humanity.

"Seeing that changed me. I started having flashes of people in town. People I knew but…in a different way. Regina, Mary Margaret, Marco…I knew something was…wrong. I could tell that I was in a different land with strange people, but—" abruptly he came to a halt and Emma, so engrossed in the story, almost continued walking before she realized he had stopped.

"But what?"

Graham stared at her with sad but grateful eyes. "But I never before had someone to ground me in _this_ reality as I struggled to remember the old one. The flashes were erratic, incomplete. Just as they were a week ago when I could see visions of me with Snow, but couldn't make sense of them. It wasn't truly a…a happy ending," he said, seeming to struggle with the very word 'happy', "until you came along."

Emma forced herself to meet his gaze, his words bringing back that dull ache in her heart. "Graham, I—"

"Don't you see, Emma?" he grasped her shoulders, giving her a light squeeze. "_You _were what it was always about." He released her then and stood back, extending his arms before her. "The daughter of Snow White. I could never be truly…happy until I knew the queen's plan had failed. Until I knew that my sparing Snow's heart was not in vain. That she had defeated the queen."

"But she didn't!" Emma argued, finding her voice. "Look around you Graham," she gestured back toward the town. "She enacted the curse. My parents forgot they even knew each other, let alone were married. She adopted my son!"

"She _didn't_ win, Emma," Graham said calmly which only annoyed her more. But she was far too curious to interrupt him again. "_You _are proof of that. You escaping the curse, being here…Snow's daughter…_that's _my happy ending."

Emma's mouth hung open slightly as she struggled in vain to puncture his logic. People really needed to stop having these earth-shattering-Emma-centric revelations around her. It was turning her brain to mush.

"And that's why we can't follow the wolf tonight," he continued, falling back into step along the path, drawing closer to the town. "That's why I have to go back…to her."

Emma's heart nearly stopped. "Her. _Her_?" She ran to catch up to him. "Her as in the queen?"

"Yes."

"Graham you can't!"

"I must."

"What the hell for?"

He stopped and turned to her again. "The queen has my heart, your Highness. If I don't return to her willingly, she will use it and draw me to her by force. She has done so before."

Caught off guard at having been called 'your highness' by her boss, Emma couldn't think of a thing to say.

"I cannot allow her to do that."

"S-so we find her crypt," she spluttered. "We'll find your heart—"

"And I have every intention of doing so, but until then, I cannot give her any reason to suspect my awakening."

"Why? What will she—"

"She has to look into my heart to use it, Emma. And if she looks into my heart…she'll find you there."

Again the breath nearly went out of her and the ache coiled even tighter in her stomach. "M-me?"

Graham seemed to sense her discomfort for he merely smiled and gave her arms a light squeeze. "The source of my awakening. My faith renewed in humanity, remember?"

"R-right," she said, thankful for the reprieve, for she wasn't stupid. She knew that wasn't _all _he meant. Neither of them had said a _word _about that incredibly…heated …kiss. And she was grateful for that too. For the passions that drove it were not fueled by love – at least, not the kind of love she _assumed _must drive 'true love's kiss'. No, Graham was awoken by power. A primal, visceral power inside of her she hadn't a prayer of understanding. Not now…not with him standing here.

Still, her own confusion over what exactly she felt for him did nothing to lessen the sting upon hearing that he would return willingly to the queen's side.

"It's the only way to ensure she doesn't find out and have me reset again."

"Reset?"

"Put back under the curse."

"She can _do _that?!" she cried.

He sighed. "With me, she can. She has my heart. I don't know about anyone else."

Emma stared down at the path, digging the toe of her muddied boot into the ground and kicking up the earth in frustration.

"Hey," he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. "We'll figure this out. In the meantime, we need to get back. Make an appearance at the festival, check in with your boy."

Emma studied him for a long while, but at last relented. There were so many more questions to ask, so many things she wanted to know: how _would _the wolf come find her to lead her back to the Zimmers? How _could _they locate the queen's crypt, and even if they did, how might they restore all the hearts she took? Why _did _Shane Pilfer strike such a chord with the sheriff if he _hadn't _known him as the huntsman? And most importantly…why was it that people waking up in Storybrooke didn't necessarily make anything _better_…just more freaking complicated?

…

_Philip, the heir of Braemar, and his cousin Lucas, Duke of Glowerhaven, were in no great hurry to reach Agrabah as they dutifully trotted their horses along the ancient paths that led from the outskirts of Braemar to Rushdi's infamous desert. And it wasn't as if they disliked the old Sultan or his daughter, but they were well aware of the true reason they had been invited to this summit and sent in King Hubert's place to end negotiations with the eastern kingdom…and the reason had very little to do with trade agreements or land holdings. _

_Toward the end of the Goblin Wars, the combined forces of Sultan Rushdi's army of mercenaries and King Hubert's legion of knights finally defeated the Snow Queen, freeing the people of Lochmere once and for all from her frigid rule. Already, the seaside kingdom had begun to heal, with lush vegetation flourishing on its shores, and glaciers breaking up and melting back into ocean. The land's resources and trade industries were to be shared evenly between the two conquering kingdoms and, during the course of the final summit, a royal was to be named as interim ruler of Lochmere whose job it would be to maintain peace and act in the best interests of both beneficiaries while its people began to rebuild._

_ The summit, however, was just a formality. Sultan Rushdi historically maintained very good relationships with his fellow Kings and Queens in the west, none more so than with King Hubert and Queen Magdalena of Braemar. The terms of their joint stewardship over Lochmere were all but signed and scripted for posterity at this point. Rushdi's _real_ aim in inviting Philip and Lucas to complete the final terms of the negotiation was to present Lucas as a last ditch effort suitor for Princess Jasmine._

_ Jasmine was gaining a horrid reputation as the princess with the 'heart of ice', and given the villain he'd _just_ conspired with Hubert to dethrone, Rushdi wanted to divest Jasmine of this epithet as soon as possible. The smoky-eyed Arabian princess had rejected dozens of suitors so far for a myriad of reasons including height, weight, body odor, fashion sense, and an inability to pass the 'Rajah test': approval from her pet tiger. _Tiger_. Why in the world had Rushdi agreed to let Jasmine keep a pet tiger?!_

_ Both Philip and Lucas had actually passed the 'Rajah test' once before, but they'd had the distinct advantage of being children then, and Rajah was just a cub. Companions since birth, Philip and Lucas were Braemar's most infamous bachelors, gallivanting throughout the realms, winning tournaments, crashing parties, disguising themselves as mere villagers and challenging unknowing knights to pointless duels. In this respect, they were not all that dissimilar from Jasmine who had on more than one occasion snuck outside the palace walls, disguised herself as a commoner and took to haggling with marketplace vendors until they betrayed their own duplicity, at which point she would reveal her true identity and have them answer for cheating their customers. As contemporaries and friends, the three of them got on very well, but the sultan refused to see that this was as far as their relationship was ever going to go. _

_Philip would have been Rushdi's first choice, as he was an actual prince set to inherit a powerful kingdom, but he had been betrothed to Princess Aurora of Rosebriar since the eve of her birth. In fact, it was rumored that both Hubert and King Stefan of Rosebriar had been urging the young prince to formally announce the engagement soon, to start thinking seriously about the future, and to settle down so that he might finally learn the role of monarch. (Philip – being Philip – had responded to his father's pleas by dragging his cousin on a three-month excursion through the Badlands, sampling some of the country's most exotic wines and…pleasurable company. But that was an outing of which Rushdi was unaware). The Sultan just wanted someone of noble blood who would marry his daughter before her 18__th__ birthday. It was an archaic law, granted, but it also ensured the princess a safe and secure future as he had no male heirs. Jasmine could not ascend the throne without at least a prince consort by her side. The people of Agrabah simply would not accept an unmarried woman as their ruler, and she would be in very grave danger amidst the noblemen of her own court. And so, having exhausted every eligible nobleman in his inner circle, Rushdi had begged Hubert to send Philip and Lucas to Agrabah in the hopes that the duke, the queen's nephew and Philip's unfailing right hand man, might be accepted by the princess._

"_You know, it's been several years since we've seen Jasmine," Philip was saying as he trotted Samson along the path, in no hurry to reach Agrabah. "Perhaps your opinion of her will improve, Cousin."_

_Lucas smiled but rolled his eyes. "My _opinion_ of her has always been favorable. But I know I do not _love_ her, Your Highness. And I know I _will_ not love her. We've been sent on a fool's errand."_

_Philip glanced back. "How many times must I tell you to call me Philip when we are travelling, Lucas? There are no dames around to accuse you of impropriety."_

"_And no kings around to judge you ill-fitted for the throne, that is true," jested the duke as he snapped Wellington's reigns and caught up to his cousin. "Nevertheless, as we are approaching the land where they cut off your _ear_ if they don't like your _face_, I prefer to observe the strictest code of formality."_

_Philip shook his head. "Have you learned nothing from our adventures, Cousin?" he tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment._

"_On the contrary, I have learned a great deal! How else would I know to keep an extra flask of rum in my tunic so that I might have something left to trade when the Badland gypsies steal our horses?"_

"_A valuable lesson that belongs in every Braemarian schoolhouse, to be sure," Philip replied with a satisfied nod. "But I was referring to our one and _only_ rule."_

"_Which is?" Lucas prompted him, though he mouthed the answer along with the prince._

"Never_ follow the rules." Philip tugged on Samson's reigns and slowed to a trot. They'd reached the point where the paths veered off in two directions. Between here and Agrabah, there were only a handful of oases with drinkable water, and it was widely known that these spots were teaming with thieves and gypsies, just waiting for naïve travelers to stop and rest. So Philip and Lucas decided to water their already sweltering horses here, before entering the desert, and trotted down to a small brook about a quarter-mile from the path._

"_Besides," continued the prince with a graceful dismount, "how do you _know_ you won't fall in love with her? By all accounts she's grown into one of the most exciting, voluptuous creatures in the history of our entire realm."_

_Lucas threw his head back and laughed as he wrapped Wellington's reigns around a drooping branch. "Tell me, are women flattered when you refer to them as _creatures_?"_

_Philip flashed him another smug grin. "Only the ones who are breathing."_

_Wiping the sweat from his brow, Lucas removed his boots and plunged his bare, sticky feet into the cool, fresh water. Gods, even the lands _surrounding_ Agrabah were stifling hot. He was not at all looking forward to spending two weeks at the Sultan's desert kingdom, being paraded around as another in a long line of husband-hopefuls for a princess _clearly _not interested in marriage. But to refuse Sultan Rushdi's invitation would have offended his uncle's honor…and since Philip couldn't be counted on to care for such things, the responsibility fell, as always, to Lucas._

"_It's all in the delivery, Luke," Philip joshed, retrieving a leather canteen from his saddle bag and filling it with water from the brook. After taking a generous swig, he handed it to his cousin and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I guarantee – if you walk up to Jasmine and tell her she's the most _beautiful_ creature you've ever laid eyes on—"_

"_She'll feed me to Rajah," said the duke who took his own swig, capped off the canteen and handed it back to Philip. "But I will bear it in mind, Cousin. Thank you."_

_Philip sighed and took a few steps back, shaking his head with a disapproving smirk. "You're heading into this all wrong: A chance to be prince consort in one of the realms' most powerful kingdoms, a stake in Lochmere, and an exotic bride to top it off? Not a bad arrangement for a duke."_

"_Not unlike your betrothal to the princess of Rosebriar, Your Highness?" replied Lucas without thinking. He hadn't intended to bring her up. In fact, Philip's inevitable engagement to Princess Aurora was the last thing he wanted on his mind. But he also could not stomach his cousin's hypocrisy: to claim that Rushdi's offer of Jasmine's hand was an arrangement too enticing to refuse while he continued to scoff in the face of his own providence? To be promised to _Aurora_ and yet continue to prance around the country playing the scoundrel? If he only knew the treasure he had right in front of him._

"_Again with the betrothal, Lucas?" Philip asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Why did his cousin _insist _on bringing up his impending banishment into matrimony at every opportunity? Didn't he realize how lucky he was _not_ to have had his bride chosen for him at the age of _seven_? "A flawed argument at best. That is an entirely different affair and you know it."_

"_Quite right, Cousin," Lucas replied quickly, desiring to end the conversation before it even began. "My apologies." An awkward silence settled between them as their horses grazed the last bit of grass they would see until they reached Agrabah. It was a good thing Philip remembered to stock up on extra carrots for the journey. Otherwise, Samson and Wellington would end up in very poor shape indeed._

"_Well?" Lucas turned to the prince after he felt sufficiently cooled. "Shall we?" Philip nodded and turned to mount his horse when an arrow zoomed past his ear and struck the trunk of a nearby tree. "Your Highness!" shouted the duke, throwing himself over the prince and knocking him to the ground just as another arrow flew toward his head. _

"_Gypsies?" Lucas asked, inspecting the surrounding woods that had considerably thinned at the forest's edge and yet still managed to conceal their aggressors._

"_Highwaymen," said Philip, who had drawn his sword and was crawling further up the bank. He cursed under his breath, trying to see where the arrows were coming from while the horses launched into a panicked fit, kicking out their hind legs thunderously close to Lucas's head. "Look out!" he said, grabbing Lucas by the collar and dragging him out of the way of Wellington's massive hooves. _

_Lucas spun into a kneeling position, his own sword at the ready, but both their bows and quivers were strapped to their saddles, and swords were of little use in this kind of ambush. Finding cover behind a few giant redwoods, the men peered frantically over every clearing, through every cluster of branches and behind every rock, but there was still no thief in sight. "Show yourselves!" shouted Philip, raising his sword about his head. An arrow just narrowly missed his outstretched arm in reply._

"_Do try _not _to antagonize them, Your Highness," Lucas muttered, his eyes still darting around the forest. It was highly irregular to encounter so well-orchestrated an assault before having even reached the deserts of Agrabah. He was about to suggest that he would run to the next clearing and get to some higher ground when they heard an abrupt scream followed by soft thud. A few seconds later – another scream and then two thuds. On the third scream, Philip finally spotted a dark figure tumbling out of a tree with an arrow plunged into his chest. Two more men fell similarly through a small clearing in front of them, and the last one landed right at Lucas's feet. _

"_Gods and demons," spat Lucas, jumping back from the man groaning beneath him. The brute was wearing a dark green tunic, brown breeches and faded sash wrapped around his waist. His head was practically covered in hair, a red bushy beard growing over his entire mouth and thickset eyebrows covering his drooping eyes. "Robin's men?" Lucas asked._

_Philip used his boot to flip the man fully on his back. "Maybe," he said, glancing down at the small fox crudely embroidered in the sash. "Certainly the right insignia."_

"_Imposters," came a voice behind them, and the two men whirled around, swords raised in expectation. "Robin's men only attack land jobbers and tax collectors," said the stranger who wasn't at all alarmed by the outstretched swords. "These men are just common thieves looking to trade on Robin's name."_

_Confident this man was not an immediate threat, Lucas sheathed his sword and stepped forward. The man was fairly dark-skinned, his sharp nose and angular jaw distinctly Arabian, though his dress reflected their own local apparel. He held a long, slender bow in his left hand strung with silver horsehair. "And you are?" Lucas asked._

"_Passing through," said the stranger, reaching out to shake Lucas's hand and then Philip's before turning to leave._

_The prince, taking note of what had to be at least eight thugs the young man had single-handedly dropped, jogged over to him. "You put on a display like that, save our lives, and you're just going to leave?"_

_The man gave Philip a crooked smile, clapped his hand over the prince's shoulder (with entirely too much familiarity for Lucas's liking) and shouldered his bow. "A man in my position can't afford to stay in one place, Your Grace," he said, giving Philip's back an extra pat before withdrawing and starting down the path again._

_Philip chuckled and shook his head, turning back to their horses, but Lucas's eyes narrowed as he watched the man retreat. Something wasn't right. "It's not every day you catch an Agrabah thief right in the act, is it Your Highness?" he shouted, glaring down the lane at their supposed hero. _

_Wisely, the man stopped and turned. "Pardon?"_

"_Give it back," charged Lucas, clasping the hilt of his sword and withdrawing a hair's width from its sheath. _

"_Give what back?"_

"_Lucas," hissed Philip, "what are you—"_

"_Whatever you've stolen from my cousin, boy. Give it back."_

_Amused, though also looking a bit sheepish, the man reached into his deceptively large pockets and, sure enough, withdrew Philip's silver-plaited flask with the Braemar lion crest etched on the front – a gift from King Hubert on the prince's 16__th__ birthday._

"_What—" Philip stuttered, pointing dimly at the flask, checking his own tunic, and looking back again. He dropped his hands to his hips, shook his head, and grinned. "Well, I'll be dammed," he laughed. "That was quite a lift, my friend."_

"_Your Highness—" Lucas chided him, but Philip was far too amused._

"_Oh come on, Lucas. We've been taken by some of the best swindlers in the Badlands, but _that _was the best pickpocketing I've ever seen."_

_The pickpocket in question stood rather stunned, watching this very uncharacteristic response to his pilfering unfold. Lucas, meanwhile, wiped his palms down his face and groaned as he headed over to where Wellington was still kicking up a fit. Leave it to Philip to make friends with a thief._

"_What's your name, son?" asked the Prince, holding his hand out for the flask. _

_The thief hesitated, glancing between the prince and his companion before he sighed and handed it over. "Aladdin," he said at last._

"_Never seen a man from Agrabah handle a bow like that, Aladdin," he nodded at the quiver strung to his back._

_Aladdin shrugged, tugging on the strap. "When you're on the run, you have to adapt, your Highness."_

"_On the run?" Lucas joined in reluctantly, having calmed down his charger and returned to the clearing. "From whom?"_

"_From the sultan."_

"_The sultan!?" both men cried together._

"_Well," amended Aladdin with a grin, "from Razoul, his chief guard."_

"_Oh," said Philip, slightly less impressed. _

"_There's a price on my head," he went on to explain. "And he's got the entire Imperial guard on the lookout."_

"_What did you do?" asked Lucas, stroking the pelt between Wellington's eyes as he fed the beast a carrot. _

_Aladdin grew quiet, folded his arms over his chest and looked away. "Nothing new," he said softly. "Just…got caught."_

_Philip studied him carefully, noticing the abrupt shift in tone and posture. There was _so _much more to that story than Aladdin was letting on. He glanced at Lucas, then at Samson, then Wellington, and back to Lucas. _

_Lucas followed his gaze and when it landed back on himself, he immediately shook his head, mouthing the word 'no' and stamping his foot impatiently on the ground._

_Philip characteristically ignored him. "You know, we're headed to Agrabah on business, Al," he said, throwing an arm around the thief and leading him over to his horse. "And in case you hadn't already figured it out, you just saved the heir of Braemar and his cousin, the duke of Glowerhaven."_

_Lucas scoffed. "Yes. Right before you _stole _from—"_

"_Come with us," Philip went on, "and I'll get you a full pardon."_

"_No thanks," Aladdin shrugged away and shook his head. "I'm fine out here on my own."_

"_Says the man who lifted a flask instead_ _of the _hundred_ gold pieces I have roped to my belt," Philip replied, taking the pouch that indeed hung from his waist cord and palming the weight._

_Lucas gasped, half mortified that the prince would reveal that to a proven thief, half impressed he'd noticed something so subtle._

"_You don't _enjoy _making a living like this Al," Philip continued, "You help those in trouble and you take only what you need. Please," he extended his hand again, all joshing and cleverness aside. "You saved our lives. Let me help clear your name."_

_Lucas rolled his eyes. Making promises he couldn't necessarily keep: _more _classic Philip. Though to be fair, Lucas had a feeling the prince could charm even Razoul._

_Aladdin stared at Philip's outstretched arm for a long while, considering his options. He'd certainly mistaken Philip of Braemar for another snooty, pretentious royal. The prince was far more insightful than the arrogant bantering he'd overheard had led him to believe. Could Philip truly deliver what he was offering? And for that matter, was there any point in going back? Was there anything left for him in Agrabah now after what he'd done to Cassim?_

_Aladdin's eyes slammed shut, shaking his head as if he could deny the truth. Of _course_ there was a life for him in Agrabah. He missed his home, he missed Abu…he missed his mother. And he couldn't run forever. If Prince Philip could get the sultan to grant him_ _a pardon, then maybe…just maybe…_

_At long last, the thief looked up, grasped Philip's hand and gave it a firm shake. "All right," he said quietly. "Take me home…" _

When Shane woke up, stretched out on the cold slab of metal that passed for a bed in his cell, his arm was fully extended in the air, and he could almost feel the hand of the man shaking it as he emerged from his sleep. "Take me home," he mumbled in the moments between sleep and awake. "Take m-me…" But as the dream drifted away, so did the memory of it, and faces he tried so hard to remember soon faded from his mind.

"Take you _where_, Mr. Pilfer?" came a calm, cool voice in the shadows.

Shane bolted upright, clenching the edge of the metal cot and peering into blackness. "Who's there?" he growled. "Who are you?" Though the clock on the wall read only 9:17, Shane felt like it was almost midnight given how dark it was in the station.

"A friend."

"I don't have any friends."

"A comrade then," came the voice.

"I'm not at war," spat the thief.

"Oh, but you are," he leaned forward then, resting his slim hand over the tip of his cane. "We all are."

Only once he'd leaned fully into the tiny bit of moonlight spilling through the window did Shane recognize his visitor. "Whadyou want, old man?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning up against the concrete wall beside his cot.

"Same thing your little sheriff friend wants, I suppose," the man replied, removing what looked to be a faded brown ushanka from his head. "To help you."

"Yeah well forget it," said Shane, pushing himself off the metal slab and starting to pace the cell. "New deputy already tried that. I beat up that kid, plain and simple. Got drunk. Got stupid. End of story. I—"

"Please," scoffed his visitor with an uncaring wave. "You and I both know you're in here taking the fall for someone else. And you're only doing that so Dr. Fisk won't pull the plug on your father-in-law," he slinked across the floor, placing his cane carefully along the tile with rhythmic consistency as he approached the bars. "Poor Jade would just be devastated if she lost her papa."

Shane flung himself across his cell and gripped the bars. "Who told you that? How do you know that?" he yelled. "I swear to God, you leave her out of this, Gold, or I'll—"

"Temper, temper boy," crooned the pawn broker, having not budged an inch from his leaned stance despite how close he was to the bars. "According to my sources, the little deal you struck with the good doctor will soon be irrelevant, and you will most likely be set free at no risk to your ex-wife or her crazy pop."

"What are you talking about?" Shane tightened his grip, but couldn't mask his open curiosity.

Gold chuckled as he lifted his cane once more, dug it more firmly into a groove on the floor and grinned. "You really should leave deal making to the professionals, my boy. I have it on good authority that Dr. Fisk is, at this moment, a patient in his own hospital. He was attacked by an escaped mental patient just seconds after Sean Herman awoke from his coma."

Shane loosened his grip, slid his hands down the bars and thunked his forehead between them with a gasp. "What?"

"I think it's safe to say that the now _conscious_ Mr. Herman isn't about to wrongfully accuse a man who most likely saved his life. And with Fisk suffering at least two broken ribs and a cracked collarbone, I doubt he'll be able to direct much patient care…nor will be able to carry on with your ex-wife very effectively now that I think about it," he added with a wink.

His cheekiness was not appreciated, and Shane's blood started boiling again at the mere hinting of Jade's affair with Fisk. "Out with it Gold," he narrowed his gaze. "Whadyou want?"

"Want?" Gold pressed more firmly on his cane.

"You didn't have to come here to tell me any of that. I would've found out as soon as Graham got back. Whadyou want?"

"Once a thief, always a thief?" Gold baited him. "Always believing someone's out to take something from you?"

"Am I wrong?" Shane countered.

Gold stared at him through the steel bars, remembering the very first time he'd encountered this quick-witted lad. An Arabian on the run, he remembered. He'd thought briefly of striking a deal with him after observing him take on a band of highwaymen. But he had other clients to see and business to attend, and the boy seemed well on the way to sealing his fate on his own, so Gold left it alone. Only after discovering that he'd become Princess Jasmine's new consort did Gold regret not having taken advantage of the Aladdin's exile.

Shane watched as the pawn broker raked his gaze over the station, glanced back at the doors and then reached inside his coat. Shane sucked in a breath, having had way too many close calls in West End that started with a guy reaching inside his bulging coat pocket. But what the old man withdrew wasn't a gun. Not even close. Wary and incredulous, Shane stared as Gold brought out an old, dusty, oriental-looking lamp. "What the hell is that?" he said.

"A souvenir," he replied, grinning as he passed the lamp through the bars, forcing it into the street rat's hands. Aladdin peeked inside its tiny lid and then turned it over in his palms. Gold held his breath, half expecting something to happen right then. Right now. But it didn't. Gold was disappointed but not surprised. Not enough magic, he mused to himself. Not yet.

"Yeah? And what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Nothing," he said, placing his fur cap back on his head. "For now."

Shane openly gaped at him, his rotten temper and indignation practically evaporated in favor of unabashed shock. "Nothing? You give me a shitty old antique and tell me to do nothing?"

"For now," Gold repeated as he made his way back toward the door. "Just…keep it safe for me. For a while—" he paused at the entrance and glanced back – "until you need it." And then he was gone.

…

*****Sigh. And that marks then end of my summer vacation folks. Headed back to school on Monday. I intend to keep writing, but make no promises as to frequency of updates. I'm teaching HONORS this year…oy!**

**Can't wait for the upcoming season. Loving the pics leaked online of Henry with Grandpa Charming. Loving also the implications that we'll get a new villain out of Hook (two and a half villains in all of FTL was getting a little tired). And does anyone else think that Peter Pan's curse might have been having to grow up? I think it'd be a neat twist on the curse – you know, ALL the kids in Storybrooke got to stay young for 28 years EXCEPT the one boy who never wanted to? **

**Hope you enjoyed what I'm unofficially calling the kick off to MY second season of "Toll Bridge." It's no secret this story is an absolute bear! But with three couples awake and united, I felt the beckoning call of some other neglected characters coming into the fold. Plenty more in store for everyone as we move forward, including a very interesting adventure for Henry. Stay tuned and happy almost fall!**

**-Nikstl*****


	33. Kings, Queens and Pawns

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Kings, Queens and Pawns**

"Where are we going?" Adam demanded as Belle continued to drag him further and further through the woods, pausing to free her borrowed scrubs from the gnarly branches encroaching upon the path.

"Somewhere safe," she replied. Grumpy and Sleepy were behind them, having no choice but to follow the psychotic fugitive they'd helped escape. Snow had asked them to go along, to ensure they all arrived safely in the caverns beneath the forest, though she of course couldn't tell them everything. Belle was hoping not to have to explain too much, being the only one among them fully aware of both worlds, but she could sense the doubtful, suspicious glances from the hospital security guards even with her back turned. They were not comfortable with this. Not at all. And why should they be? At best, they were out of a job. At worst, they were accomplices to Doctor Fisk's beating.

"I'll not hide like a frightened animal," said Adam, tugging on his wife's arm and insisting he be heard. She turned to face his towering form, reminded all too readily of the patience and fortitude it often took to weather her husband's temper.

"We're _not_ hiding like frightened animals," she said, trying to whisper, though she could see Grumpy and Sleepy catching up to them. "Please, try to be patient, my love. I promise I'll explain everything, but we need to move."

Adam clenched his jaw but did not argue further. He already hated this world – hated it for what had to be _years_. But he supposed there was also very little he _understood _of it too. His brilliant wife had clearly deduced more than he had ever had a chance to, and he trusted her with his life. So with a grunt, they pressed on, just as the dwarfs caught up.

"You know, I think the coast is clear," muttered Walter as the two fell in step behind the mammoth beast of a man dressed in ill-fitting scrubs and an overcoat from the hospital's lost and found. "I'm sure we could just…you know, take off."

Leroy shook his head, "Mary Margaret asked us to follow them all the way." He had his doubts, just like Walter, but there was something very familiar in helping Miss Blanchard tonight, and it had stirred something barely recognizable in his gut – pride. Helping this woman, coming to her aid, well…he was proud of himself. He knew, regardless of how insane and outrageous the night had been, helping Mary Margaret had been the right thing to do. It had been a long time since Leroy had been proud of _anything _he'd done – as long as he could remember really. So he pressed on. "Besides," he muttered back. "Where you gonna take off _to_?"

Walter shrugged. "The sheriff's office?"

Leroy stopped and grabbed his shoulder. "The what?"

"The sheriff's office!" Walter cried, "Look, we just helped a madman escape from the mental ward. Sheriff's gonna be all over this tomorrow. If we go and confess right now, maybe they won't—"

"Are you _nuts_?" seethed the town drunk. "If we're lucky, no one will ever remember we were _there_. Now quit being a numbskull and keep moving. It's freezin' out here."

The two walked in silence then, keeping a steady pace behind Adam and Rose. The bookish brunette kept glancing back, flashing them reassuring smiles and expressions of gratitude. Leroy nodded back, assuring her they were fine. Eventually, they came to a narrow path overgrown with trees and brushes. A deer came out to greet them and didn't seem to mind Walter's whining and protestations as Rose took hold of the animal's antlers and led the small party further into a cold, marshy thicket.

At last, they arrived at a wall of red rock, stretching up a steep incline. Belle waited patiently as the stag bowed his head and galloped off in the woods. She looked up, anticipating the arrival of the gray wolf Snow told her would appear. Her gaze wandered up the incline, squinting desperately through the darkness and trying to spot the wolf's red eye, but he didn't come. Something was wrong.

"Look!" whispered Adam, and Belle followed his gaze to the other side of the hill. The entire party gasped (poor Walter actually toppled backward over a tree branch) as the group beheld a shining white mountain lion, stretching her paws in light spasms and letting out a great yawn. Her coat shimmered in the moonlight as she began her descent. "Careful," said Adam, who instantly stepped in front of his wife, but Belle gazed right into the creature's eyes as it lazily stepped down the bedrock, sauntering up to them like a cat awoken too early from her nap.

"What the hell?" spluttered Walter, still flat on his back and scurrying even further away as he crawled on his palms and feet. "Leroy!"

"Shh! Shut up Walter!" Leroy hissed as he stood transfixed by the impossible image of the silvery predator trotting up to the woman whose outstretched hand betrayed no signs of fear.

"Hello beautiful," whispered Belle as the great feline purred into her palm. Seeing this, Adam relaxed. "Have you been sent in his place?"

The lion nodded and turned toward the curtain of hanging vines in front of them. Her eyes glowed as they stepped inside, and Belle and Adam quickly disappeared behind her as they entered the cave.

"Enough of this!" shouted Walter, finally pulling himself up out of the muck and dusting himself off. "I am not following a freakin' puma into a dark, dank cave. Nuh uh!"

"Don't you think if it was gonna rip us to shreds it have done it already?" Leroy argued.

"I don't know _what _to think. But this is far enough!"

"Come on, Walter," he pleaded. "There's," he glanced toward the vines. "There's somethin' in there. I can…I can feel it." He looked back at his companion, whose eyes were equally spooky. "And you feel it too, dontcha?"

Walter shook his head in denial. "I feel _cold, _that's what I feel. Cold, and wet, and…and…Leroy that was a fucking lion!"

"Looked more like a cougar," he said, "and keep your voice down."

"Keep my _voice _down?" cackled the guard. "Why, the top-secret- cave-hidden-in-a-_swamp_ police might hear?"

"Get a grip will ya?"

"No!" he yelled. "Enough a this, I'm going home!" Walter started stomping back to the marsh and Leroy was about to follow, but he suddenly had another idea.

"Fine," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

Walter turned. "Fine?"

"Yup," Leroy laughed. "You go home. Good luck findin' your way back without that deer guidin' ya. I'm gonna check out this cave." And with that, he turned and walked toward the vines.

It was about 12 seconds before he heard Walter's clumsy footfalls running up behind him. "You _suck_ you know that?" hissed Walter. Leroy laughed.

They weren't too far behind the others. Leroy could just make out the dark shadows of Rose and Adam at the base of what felt to be a wide, stone staircase. Scurrying to catch up, they regrouped and followed the lion down a damp tunnel. Gradually they became aware of the vague rumbling of rushing water echoing against the damp cavern walls. Soon, they came upon another circular decline and when they reached the end of the second tunnel, the lion turned, nodded, and scampered away.

"Hey!" said Walter, his voice reverberating off the walls. "Where's he goin'?!"

"It's a she," Belle said patiently as she felt her hands along the wall as Snow had instructed her to.

"Oh _well_," snorted Walter, "excuse me for—"

"Silence," bellowed Adam who knew, dwarf or not, the man's incessant whining may soon prompt him to put a fist through the cavern wall. He focused instead on the woman in front of him, his grip tightening on his wife's shoulders as she continued her search. Shrouded by the darkness of the cave, Adam let his hands drift down her back and slide around her waist. She had better find what she was looking for…fast.

Her husband's expert touch notwithstanding, Belle managed to concentrate enough on her search, and her hand finally brushed against the iron latch. "Ah ha!" she cried gleefully. She wrenched it down, heard it click on the other side, and pushed the door open. A faint blue glow spilled into the cottage, and the sounds of the waterfall intensified as the pair stepped inside. She turned into her husband, unable to resist the urge to pull his head down for a passionate kiss as she reveled in this last victory. "We made it," she said, pulling back and staring up at his devastatingly gorgeous eyes.

Adam was about to respond, but was interrupted as the dwarfs passed over the threshold.

"Hey!" cried Grumpy. He planted his feet firmly on the stone floor and spread his hands out like a ballplayer preparing to steal a base. The effect was instantaneous as the warmth of the cottage engulfed him, the dull echo of Leroy already fading in his head as he gaped at the magnificent little bungalow, still here after all these years. There was no need for flashes or visions or deep wrenching breaths. They were _dwarfs_ after all. Who in the world was better equipped to handle the pulsing waves of magic?

"Hey…Sleepy look!" he glanced over at the former guard who had also just crossed the threshold. Grumpy watched as Sleepy blinked his eyes open and took in the view, stretching his hands over his head as his gaze fell on the familiar row of beds lined up beyond the wide open archway. It was about time, thought the grumpy dwarf. He was getting really sick of 'Walter'.

"Grumpy!" yawned the dwarf as he smiled that old sleepy smile of his, "We're …We're home!"

…

Henry paced the tiny length of his bedroom, tugging at the roots of his hair and shaking out his hands. It had grown more and more apparent as the evening wore on that he would not be permitted to speak with anyone the queen even remotely suspected. So to avoid further suspicion, he simply stopped asking and decided to wait it out. Every now and then he'd catch Pops' eye, seeing his grandfather's worried expression, but Henry could do little more than nod in reply, confirming that there was indeed trouble afoot and, unfortunately, very little either could do about it at the moment.

_School_, he thought as he continued to pace, trying to calm himself by converting the madness into a Cobra mission. _I'll wait until school. _Once he was back at Storybrooke Elementary, he could tell Grandma Snow all about it, and they could figure everything out together. He could tell her about the three villains in the hallway: the scary lady with the long black hair, the tall doctor, the skinny man with the cane. He could tell Emma what he'd heard about Michael Tillman (the ramifications of _that _little reveal still making the poor boy nauseous). He could warn Pops about Thomas – Henry gasped. Thomas. He _couldn't _wait until school tomorrow. It would be too late. Maybe it already _was _too late! Oh why didn't he try harder at the festival? Why didn't he just make a break for it and sprint over to Pops? _Cuz then she'd know Prince James was awake for _sure _doofus!_ he scolded himself as he had been doing all evening. The constant back and forth bickering going on in his head was a bit unnerving. Could a person go crazy if he not only talked to himself but answered himself too? _School_, he thought again. _It'll have to wait till school_. But that _still _wouldn't help Thomas. How was he ever going to—

A soft tapping pulled his attention toward the window. It was pitch black, and at first he thought it might be the branches of the tree just outside his room. But when he turned to look, hope leapt into his heart. It was Lucy! Lucy, of course! He had a superpower now (why did he keep _forgetting _that?!). He could send Lucy with a message to his family and Regina would never know. Bounding over to the window, he slid it open quietly, ushered the happy little bluebird in from the cold and then closed the window behind her. "Lucy!" he whispered happily. The little bird chirped in response. "How'd you know to come?"

"_You were in trouble young one!" _squeaked the tiny voice inside his head.

"Great!" he said, pressing his palms together and nearly bursting with excitement. "Look, tell Mom and Pops that I overheard my mom, that is my _evil _mom, talking with these other evil people – like three of 'em. One of 'em was a doctor in the hospital! He was really tall and looked a lot like one of the bad guys I saw in the book. I can't remember the story though. Anyway it was him, and the queen, and this dark lady along with this guy who had a cane, but it wasn't Gold – or, er – Rumpelstiltskin. This guy was younger. And they were all talking about Thomas and how the doctor was going to kill him! And they mentioned Michael Tillman too, Lucy. I think he might be—" he cut himself off as he regarded the little bird staring up at him curiously. Her head tilted from one side to the other, but he heard no voice in _his_ head to match. "You…didn't really get any of that did you?" he asked.

Lucy let out a chirp. "_Too fast, young one. You talk too fast._"

Henry sighed but grinned. Having a superpower was fun, but he wished he could work out the kinks a little quicker. "I'm gonna write a letter instead, all right?" he said. Lucy bounced up and down, signifying her support of this new plan. The young one's message would certainly have lost a lot in the translation. "Wait here." He set the bird down on his comforter and tore into his desk to retrieve supplies. He was halfway through scribbling his salutation, the graphite scratching furiously against the paper on his desk, before he remembered something. Glancing back at Lucy, Henry grabbed his backpack and retrieved a packet of sunflower seeds that Grandma Snow had given him that morning. "Here," he said, tearing into the little bag and dropping a handful of seeds on the bed next to her. "_Thanks, young one!_" she tweeted happily and dug into her dinner as Henry began his letter.

…

"He's gone?!" Regina roared, raising her hand as if to slap Honest John across the jaw. John did not flinch however, and Regina was too disgusted to follow through. She brought her hands up instead to clutch her hair and tug furiously at the wild strands. "What do you mean he's _gone?_"

"Gone. Escaped. On the run. Flown the coop. Joined the bird gang—"

"Enough!" the queen growled impatiently, again resisting the urge to throttle her young errand boy who seemed actually to be enjoying the delivery of this news a bit too much for Regina's liking. "_How _did it happen?"

John related the details as best he could, though his information was sketchy. After all, he'd left the hospital that day not long after Regina (_after _disabling the alarms, of course, that would have alerted the first floor nurse's station to any serious scuffles breaking out in any exam room…but he wasn't about to tell _Regina _that).

"And _Jafar _is now in intensive care?"

"The last I heard, your Majesty," said John, "and I believe he was taken from Thomas's room babbling about a woman masquerading as a nurse."  
>Regina gaped. "What?"<p>

"A pretty brunette. Disguised as a nurse, your Majesty. Jafar seemed to think that Adam had help."

"Of _course _Adam had help! You don't break out of the psych ward without _help _you moron," she seethed, pacing the length of her long foyer and shaking her head. "No doubt it was that wretched wife of his. I _knew _it was too good to be true – Jafar's boasting that Belle had yet to return to the hospital. Little bitch was clearly planning an escape all along." She whirled back to John. "For all we know, she's been _awake _the entire time!"

John gave her a helpless shrug. "I suppose this is one of those three happy endings then," he suggested.

"You think?" she bellowed, moving toward her living room, head pounding as she sank into a plush, cream-colored chair. "What about Thomas? Did Jafar at least finish the job before he was…_pummeled_?" she spat.

John sighed as he braced his right hand on the archway and leaned into the wall. "Well considering that 'Sean Herman's' status was changed from critical to stable a few hours ago, I highly doubt it. I believe the fight woke him up."

"Dammit!" Regina cried, lunging back out of the chair. She moved across the living room to one of two tall bookcases that flanked the fireplace. She clutched one of the shelves and gripped the edge until her knuckles turned white. "That will be the _second _ending, no doubt," she said. "With Thomas awake, that will change everything between Ella and Christopher." She turned back to John who remained against the archway with his cane held casually in his left hand, digging into her hard wood floors. "Any idea who the third might be?"

John opened his mouth to reply but a heavy knock thudded on the front door and both started at the intrusion. Regina moved immediately to the front window and peered through the cracks in the curtains. "Shit," she muttered and headed for the foyer. "It's Graham."

John straightened up and swung his cane toward the door. "Kind of a bad time for one of your late-night trysts, wouldn't you say, your Majesty?"

"Shut up!" Regina wrenched open the door to reveal the rather surprised Irishman on her doorstep.

"Regina?" Graham eyed her cautiously for she had that look of rage in her eye that always meant trouble.

"What are you doing here?" she barked, not at all concerned about how frazzled she looked.

Graham meanwhile had noticed John, who remained casually in the foyer with his hand tucked in his pocket and the other clutching his cane. "I…thought you might want to know that there's been…an incident at the hospital tonight," he answered in as tempered a tone as he could muster, all the while glaring at the man with the cane. It was him – the one who had led him to the boys' home in the forest – the one who had taken the Zimmer children.

His glare did not entirely escape Regina's notice, but her impatience and paranoia had certainly dulled that eagle's eye she once had over her puppets. She closed the door as the sheriff stepped inside and came to stand beside him. "Graham?" she said hurriedly, "I don't believe you've met…John Foulfellow. One of my…political associates."

Graham bit his tongue so hard he was sure it was bleeding as he extended his arm and nodded. "Pleasure, Mr. Foulfellow," he managed, though he knew his voice was strained. _Concentrate!_ he scolded himself. For Emma's sake. For _all _their sakes. He must not tip his hand.

"Pleasure's mine," said John with ease, amused by the man's poor attempt to conceal his recognition. How much did he remember, John wondered. The drive through the forest? The screaming boys? The dark cell as the Captain re-administered Regina's curse? Were he a much better man, John thought he might actually have pity on the poor bloke. The queen had certainly – what was the colloquial phrase here? – put him through the ringer? "What kind of incident, sheriff?"

Graham gripped John's hand and shook hard before turning back to Regina. "I'd…prefer to speak with you in—"

"It's all right Graham, I've already been informed," Regina waved her hand impatiently.

Graham's eyes widened in surprise. "You…you have?"

"Yes," she huffed, "a patient at Storybrooke General escaped the psych ward after beating up on one of his doctors. I'm sure Sydney is over there reporting on it right now."

The sheriff nodded slowly. "That's…right."

"So I have to wonder why you're wasting time coming _here_ when there's a psychotic fugitive on the loose you could be looking for!"

"Emma and I will start a search tomorrow," Graham explained. "There's no use in looking _now_."

"Oh! Emma's on the case!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. "Well I'm so glad to hear your fearless _Emma _is on the case! That will make _everything _better!"

"Regina, are you—"

"Mayor Mills has had quite a tiring evening, Sheriff," said John, stepping forward and settling the queen's arms at her sides. "What with the pressure of the tree lighting and now one of Storybrooke's most prominent doctors in intensive care?"

Graham looked between the two and couldn't for the life of him figure out who deserved to be trusted _less_: The evil queen whose actions had been the catalyst for all this madness in the first place, or the smarmy errand boy who now seemed to be pulling _her _strings. Still, he was undeniably faced with _two _villains instead of one and knew it was probably best to get away if he could manage it. He feared the smarmy man had already gleaned too much from Graham's less than stellar performance upon greeting them. "Of course," he nodded and turned down the hallway. As he opened the front door, he glanced toward the ceiling and said, "Say g'night to your lad." Then he was gone.

Regina sighed, pinching the ridge of her nose as she tried to clear her mind. It was as if every piece of news were slowly suffocating her – from her nightmare last night to her disturbing visit with Gold, to tonight's shocking turn of events at Storybrooke General. And if Thomas was indeed awake now, it certainly wouldn't be so easy to kill him – especially with her only hospital operative having been beaten senseless by Ebonshire's notoriously hot-tempered royal.

"Well," said John, his mood annoyingly unchanged. "I think we've found our third happy ending."

She spun around. "What?"

John nodded toward the door. "I'm assuming you noticed the way he looked at me."

Regina glanced back at the door and then at John. "So?"

"He recognized me, your Majesty."

The queen's heart dropped to her gut. "Impossible," she denied it.

"Plain as the ruggedly handsome nose on his face, my queen."

"No," Regina shook her head and marched toward the kitchen. "No, we know what Graham looks like when he wakes up. We know how he reacts." She flung open her pantry door and yanked out a loaf of bread along with Henry's Iron Man lunch bag on the top shelf. "He would have been babbling incessantly about his wolf and the woods and having visions of me in black, lacy—"

"I beg you _not _to finish that sentence, my queen," John smirked as he watched the mayor prepare her son's lunch. The act of course reminded him of his real reason for coming here, but he would get to that soon enough. "And yes, that has been Graham's experience in the past, but we also know that comes from not being _fully _awake. After all, on many of _those _occasions, you were able to fix it with that delectable pie of yours."

Regina slammed a peanut butter laden knife on the counter. "So what are you saying? You think Graham is fully awake? And you're basing this all on a look he gave you?"

"He seemed awfully cooperative."

"He's _always _cooperative!" she bellowed. "He's a _pawn_ remember? He's conditioned to—"

"Obey you, yes. Eventually. But I do recall your frequent frustration that the sheriff is not always as forthcoming or prompt with important information as your huntsman was. Tonight he seemed especially…eager to report it."

Regina's eyes narrowed to slits as she slapped some jelly onto a fluffy piece of wheat bread and wrapped the sandwich in wax paper. "Leave now," she mumbled. She loaded the bag with fruit, cookies, carrots and an assortment of Christmas candy left over from the festival, and then tossed it in the fridge.

"Very shortly, your grace," John bowed his head, "but I beg that you indulge me a few moments more? It concerns your son."

Regina slammed the fridge closed and stalked past the pesky rogue. "What about him?"

"I wish to know what your plans are for Henry, ma'am."

The mayor froze in the middle of the hallway, glanced up at the ceiling to where she knew her son to be asleep, and then glared at Honest John. "My _plans _for him?"

John adjusted his stance – business-like. Formal. The true purpose for his visit had come and he must not screw it up. "Yes, your Majesty. Your plans. For though I admire the carefully thought out lunch you just prepared for him, you _surely _aren't planning on sending him to school tomorrow, are you?"

Regina's jaw clenched so tightly and her lips pursed so thinly together, John thought her whole face might explode. "And where else would I send him?"

"To the home of course. With the boys."

Slowly, the queen advanced on her minion. "How…dare you even suggest such a thing."

"Now hear me out, your Worshipfulness," John quipped, though her icy glare broke his brow into a nervous sweat. "You were, I'm afraid, less than…subtle tonight at the Emporium, with your boy clutched tightly by your side."

"So what!" she spat.

"Well," he said, placing the tip of his cane back on the floor, "I know that not everyone has so keen an eye for dominance as I, your Majesty, but I assure you I wasn't the only one who noticed. You refused even a harmless chat with the therapist _you _insisted he visit. If your aim is indeed to keep him as far away from Miss Swan and…everyone _else _she associates with…then the time has come I'm afraid."

Though John spoke with the same easy, cajoling tone he'd always used, his words pounded into her like nails driving into her skull. She hadn't had the _best _relationship with Henry of late, but this? This would ruin any chance of…oh, who was she kidding? "I…don't think it's…come to that," she mumbled, uncharacteristically subdued.

John chanced a step forward, risking another jaw-socking by getting so close. But he knew he must appeal to that tiny shred of motherhood if he was to get her to agree. "We've had his room ready for months, your Majesty. It really is the best thing for him."

She looked up, hating the tears that stung her eyes as she thought of how much _more _Henry would hate her if it came to this. "Not yet," she shook her head, still denying the inevitable.

"It has to be now, your Majesty. You know it," he thunked his cane with vehemence, emphasizing the urgency of the matter. "Before your enemies have the chance to take him from you." That would do it, he smiled in his head. "For if _I _noticed your overbearing behavior from afar, you can be _sure _that Prince Charming did as well…standing right next to you on that balcony—"

"All right!" she yelled, dropping her hands to her side. _It's for his own good,_ she told herself, knowing deep down that she was lying. It was for _her_ own good…not his. But bitterness had blackened her heart, and the darkness that consumed her would never again allow her that moment of clarity. "I'll…I'll go tell him."

…

_**…Whatever you do, be careful around the queen now. Like I said, I'm pretty sure she knows something. I'm gonna stick around here to get some more intel, but DON'T try to see me till I say so, got it? Don't worry Mom, Pops, Grandma – Operation Cobra can't fail, and good can't lose!**_

_**Love,**_

_**Henry**_

Henry finished signing his name with a flourish of his pen, feeling important and wishing he had a quill. He'd written down everything, checking on Lucy every so often to ensure she was well fed and content for the journey. "All right," he said, folding it up into tiny squares.

Lucy flapped her wings and chirped. _"No no, young one. Roll it up so it may fit in my beak!" _

"Oh!" Henry slapped his forehead. "Right, of course." There was no way a clumsily folded square would fit in her tiny mouth. With care, he smoothed out the letter and began again, starting at the very edge of the paper and carefully rolling it into a tight, compact tube. "There," he said and held it out to her for inspection. "Good?"

In reply, Lucy chomped down on the paper and secured it inside her beak. _"Ready!"_

Henry smiled, quite pleased with himself as he took a few seconds to admire his work. His first message. He could just see the proud look on his grandma's face when it would arrive at the house and Lucy would hop down on the kitchen island, hungry for more seeds (and maybe some of Grandma Snow's caramel corn for dessert!). He held out his palm, watched as Lucy jumped inside the perch and moved to the window. Seconds from lifting the screen, his bedroom door cracked open.

"Henry?" called the queen.

So startled by the intrusion (he hadn't at all been keeping an ear out for movement or creaking on the stairs as he usually did) Henry stumbled backward into his desk chair which toppled over and landed the boy right at his adoptive mother's feet…with Lucy still cupped in his hand,. "M-mom," he cried, desperately fidgeting to free his left arm from having been tangled in the straps of his backpack hanging on the chair. In a futile attempt to hide what could not be hidden, he managed to cover his hand over Lucy whose wings were flapping wildly and nervously.

"Henry what in the world—"

"S-sorry," Henry scrambled to his feet, still clutching the bird close to his chest. "I-I didn't hear you come in. Y-you scared me."

But the queen was not fooled. Her beady eyes stared right at his enclosed hands, a tiny tuft of blue feathers peeking out from between his fingers. "What are you hiding, Henry?" she demanded, holding her palm out for inspection.

"N-nothing," he said pitifully.

"Henry?!" she said sternly, "hand it over!"

The boy's pulse skittered to a stop, chest heaving in huge, panicked breaths. _You need to fly past her, can you hear me? _he concentrated his thoughts toward Lucy as best as he could, but he had no idea if the telepathy worked both ways. _I couldn't get the window open, so you gotta fly out of my room and find another way out, ok?_ There was no response in his head, but he could tell the bird was scared, hopping up and down, tickling the sensitive skin of his palm.

"Henry—" the queen bellowed, but before she could come any closer, Henry launched the bird in the air and watched as she zoomed above the head of the queen, circling high above her, avoiding her clawing hands.

"Go Lucy!" Henry cried, reaching out to yank the queen's hands out of the air. He struggled with her, trying to keep one eye on Lucy as he scratched at his evil mom, pulling on her sleeve and kicking at her shin.

"Ow! Henry!" Regina cried, trying desperately to grab hold of the bird. She knew all too well Snow's preferred method of communication. And she had already spotted the suspicious presence of a rolled up piece of paper in her beak. "Get—er—r-off!" she cried, wrenching her arms from her son's grasp. But she was too late. Lucy finally made it past her and out the door.

"Yes!" Henry jumped in the air, knowing he was about to be severely punished, but he didn't care. Lucy had made it out. She would get the message to Mom and Pops and Grandma. They would be able to save Thomas. They would find out about Tillman, about the three villains, about—

"Did you lose something, your Majesty?" came an amused, devious voice from the second floor banister. It was then that Henry realized Lucy's chirping was getting closer, not farther away. To his horror, as Regina trapped her son against her hip, the sly man with the cane walked into his bedroom…with Lucy caught in his grasp.

What was the sly man with the cane doing in his bedroom? What was the sly man with the cane even doing in his _house_, and how could he have possibly missed it? _No! _he panicked, watching little Lucy struggle in the sly man's grasp. _Why wasn't I on the lookout? Why didn't I hear them downstairs? Hear the queen coming? _A thousand 'what-ifs' crossed his mind as he chastised himself for his carelessness. He'd been so consumed by his letter, he hadn't even been aware of the second villain in his home!

"Leave us, John," said the queen, struggling to keep Henry's little fists at bay.

_John, _Henry thought, instantly hating the name. _That's right. John W. Foulfellow. _

"Of course, Madame Mayor," replied the man. "And, what shall I do with his…" he paused and held up the bird, squirming furiously in his grasp, "friend?"

Regina hesitated, knowing how traumatic it would be for Henry to see this. "Take it outside," she ordered, still holding Henry down, "and…deal with it."

"No!" Henry cried, knowing all too well the tone in her voice. "No please," he turned to her and begged, "I-I'll take care of her. I promise. I'll…I'll keep her in a cage. I'll even—"

"John!" she bellowed over her son, trying to drown out the strain in his voice.

John nodded and turned to leave, but at that moment, Lucy dropped the note from her mouth, angled her little head toward her captor's thumb and jammed her beak hard into the flesh.

"Ah!" cried the sly man, and Henry's heart leapt as he watched Lucy launch herself from John's grasp and expertly avert his attempts to recapture. She swooped down with wondrous grace, plucked the note from the floor and headed back to the door. _That's it,_ Henry prayed, _go Lucy! Go!_

But Regina knew what that bird represented, the threats they faced should whatever her clever son had intended for Snow or Emma be allowed to reach them. No, the bird had to be stopped. There was no other way. With the same steady hand she once used to rip apart people's hearts, Regina plucked a hard-cover book from Henry's shelf, aimed for the fleeing bird and struck her down with a mighty blow.

The room stilled as the book made a soft thud, landing on the plush carpet of Henry's bedroom floor. It was Henry's old copy of _Swiss Family Robinson_, falling open to a charcoal illustration of the Robinson's grand tree house… next to the open page lay Lucy's tiny, lifeless form, her eyes dull and black, her wings still. Henry collapsed to the floor. He had seen enough in his lifetime to recognize the body of a bird whose neck had been snapped after crashing into a clean window or flying in the path of a moving car. Lucy the bluebird…was dead.

"N-no," he sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he stroked the tiny feathers of his little friend. Lucy. Lucy, who not ten minutes ago had been tweeting cheerfully and eating sunflower seeds on his bed. Lucy who had helped him unlock the secrets of his superpower. "Noooo!" he whirled around to face the evil queen, whose own expression was an odd mixture of sadness and regret for so…heartless a woman. "How _could _you?!" he cried.

Regina tried to ignore the pain in her son's eyes, the look of utter betrayal in his face. _It's for his own good…for his own good_, she kept telling herself. And before she could stand it no longer, she picked her son up off the floor, ushered him away from the bird, and walked him out the door. "You're right John," she said gravely as the two of them led Henry downstairs, through the foyer, and up to the garage door. The boy made little effort to fight it. He was, it seemed, far too brokenhearted to resist her further. "It's time."

John nodded, tipping his hat and gesturing for the kid to climb into his car. "He'll be well taken care of, your Majesty," he said. "I promise."

…

"I want him out of there," barked Emma, pacing in front of the kitchen island. "_Out _of there. I don't care about the curse or Operation Cobra or – or gathering 'intel'. I don't care if it blows our cover, I just – I don't care! I want him out. If Belle and Adam can hide out in the cottage then so can Henry!"

James and Snow exchanged glances from either side of the room. Emma was hovering in front of the stools while Snow perched against the back of her living room couch and James leaned against the archway. "Ok," said James with a simple nod.

Emma started. "O-ok?" she turned to him, having anticipated such vehement objections that she'd practically started spewing out counter-arguments to her father before she realized he'd agreed. James nodded and then Emma turned to Snow who also grinned. "'Ok'? Really?"

"He's _your_ son_, _Emma," said Snow. "What you say goes." It was the end of a very long night, and though the last thing Snow and James wanted to do was give their daughter anything more to worry about, both agreed that keeping Regina's suspicious behavior with Henry from her would be unwise. Emma deserved to know if her son was in trouble. And as Snow looked across the room to her husband, she could already tell that James whole-heartedly supported Emma's decision.

"R-right," said Emma, as if waiting for another shoe to drop. But there was no catch. "Right," she said again, this time more confident. "So…" she glanced back to her father. "H-how do we do that?"

Still grinning, James unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the wall. "Well," he paused to think, then glanced at Snow, "whose class does Henry have first: yours or Frederick's?"

"Frederick's," Snow replied.

"Good, tell Frederick tomorrow morning to send Henry to your classroom as soon as he gets in." Snow nodded and James turned to his daughter. "As soon as Snow's got him, we'll sneak him out of the building before school's even over. Regina won't even know he's missing until long after he's hidden."

Emma blinked. The plan was simple – in fact, it seemed a bit _too_ simple given the night each of them had just been through. By the time Emma and Graham made it back to the festival, Henry and the mayor had already left, Bridgeport's Emporium was closed, and what was left of the Christmastime revelers had gathered in small clumps around the square, huddled around mini-bonfires that had sprung up from metal cans near the gazebo as the Andersen sisters finished their final set. Graham had departed not long after their arrival on the square to respond to an emergency call from the hospital. Since he and Emma had been in the woods at the time of Adam's escape, the sheriff hadn't received the message until they got back. Fortunately with the huntsman now awake, Snow was able to fully inform Graham of what really happened at the hospital, what to check for, who to check on, and how to cover.

"Ok," Emma sighed, hands on her hips as she considered her father's plan. "Ok, yeah. That's…that'll work." She bit her lip, but didn't go on.

"Emma?" asked Snow, casting a worried glance over her daughter. "Are you ok?"

Emma looked up, swiping her palm along her forehead and up to clasp her ponytail. "Yeah, I'm just," she paused and looked between her mother and father, then sighed. "I'm just…worried."

"We're gonna get him out, Emma," Snow tried to assure her. "It's as good as done. First thing tomorrow—"

"No, I know," she said, "It's just…it's a lot."

Snow nodded, seeing so much of her own concerns mirrored in her daughter's eyes. They hadn't yet had time to debrief the entire evening, but she had a feeling that Emma had braved some fairly complex emotions tonight if Graham was fully awake. Snow remembered the catalyst for the _last_ time Graham woke up, though she wasn't about to bring it up in front of James.

For her own part, it was a rushed and bittersweet reunion for Snow White and the huntsman, for the two barely had the opportunity to share a glance before he had to rush off. Years ago – decades now – Snow made a promise to herself that if she ever saw the brave huntsman who had sacrificed his life to save her own, she would make every effort to prove to him that his gift had not been wasted. Snow still hoped to make good on her promise. There was so much she wanted to tell him, to thank him for. But tonight was not the night.

"I know," said Snow as she joined her daughter in the kitchen. "There's…a lot going on."

Emma heaved a sigh and plopped down on the stools, feeling that same weight-of-the-world burden she'd had ever since Jefferson's. _Jefferson,_ she thought sadly. Still trapped in Wonderland. She'd practically forgotten.

"You know what though?" came her father's voice as he stepped over to her other flank. "A lot of it is…good." He peered at his wife over the top of his daughter's head as both women turned to him, a bit perplexed.

"Like what?" Emma snorted. Henry was likely trapped in his room, clutching _Captain America _comics to his chest and worrying about the queen. Graham was awake now but no less trapped by the Regina's pull. And, though Thomas's awakening would certainly shed light on his original attacker, Emma wouldn't likely be able to get an official statement until the morning, so Shane Pilfer – whoever he was – would indeed have to spend the night in jail, caving to the ultimatum clearly pressing on him from one of Regina's allies. What of _any _of this was _good_?

James smiled and shook his head. "Like Belle and Adam? Awake and headed for safety? An attempt on Thomas's life thwarted? Ella? Geppetto? Jiminy? Grumpy and now Sleepy? All at different stages of awareness, but all on our side." Emma shrugged, a vague acknowledgement at least, though lines of worry and fatigue still etched her brow. James thought for a moment and then remembered something else. "Oh! And guess what else we figured out tonight."

"What's that?" Emma asked, wrapping her arms around her middle as Snow moved around the island to set some water on the stove.

"Your instincts were right about your friend, Matt Clancy."

Emma straightened up on her stool. Matt Clancy! She had almost forgotten about the rugged fireman and his partner, Trent. Had it really only been this morning that she'd visited the firehouse? "What about him?"

"Clancy is actually King Philip – good friend of ours," he explained, "and definitely an ally."

The deputy's brow creased. King Phillip. King Phillip…which one was he?

Snow leaned across the counter, cocking one eyebrow, and smirked. "He was the prince from the _Sleeping Beauty _story, Emma," she added. It was a good thing 'Mary Margaret' was an elementary school teacher.

"_Sleeping_ Beauty?" James turned to his wife. Snow nodded. "Seriously? She was under that spell for maybe a _day_. Maleficent barely put up a fight."

"And to my knowledge, you and I never sang love songs to each other near a wishing well, darling," Snow laughed. "This world has many versions of our stories. Most of Aurora's just happen to focus on that one aspect."

James rolled his eyes. The more he learned about the way this world had embellished what few truths it had managed to get right about their lives, the more annoyed with it he grew.

Meanwhile, Emma mentally reviewed what few fairy tales she knew from her atypical childhood and recalled the old movie. Philip. Aurora's prince. Matt Clancy was another of these iconic princes with the classic dragon-fighting, epic battle, damsel in distress motif. Why, she wondered, didn't that make her feel better? "A prince, huh?" she asked nonchalantly, trying to mask her inexplicable disappointment. "Do we um…do we know who Aurora is?"

Snow shook her head. "Neither of us has seen her. She's blonde though, pretty. A bit taller than me."

Emma shook her head. This town had hundreds of women taller than her petite mother. "I'll keep my eyes open for a pretty blonde woman hanging around Matt then," she said. To her left, she heard her father scoff.

"That probably won't help much," he chuckled. "Philip has um…reverted to form you might say." The image of the young king's eyes brightening upon the mention of Emma tonight still irked him in a very fatherly sort of way. He wasn't too worried though; Emma was far too sharp to fall for his friend's old lines. "He had a certain…reputation before he married Aurora," James said in response to his daughter's quizzical look.

"Even _after _he met Aurora, actually," added Snow whose water had reached a boil and who was now spooning cocoa mix into two generous mugs. "They were betrothed as children, don't forget."

"A reputation?" Emma asked.

"A flirt," Snow replied, bluntly. To Aurora's eternal consternation. But not even James knew the extent of her friend's history with the notorious Braemarian heir, and Snow wasn't about to go into it now.

"I see," said Emma who was now revisiting her early morning connection with the young fireman in a slightly more cynical light. "So…who does that make Trent?"

Snow looked to James. "Trent?"

"'Matt's' partner," he replied, turning toward Emma. "Not sure. What'd he look like?"

Emma sighed. "A lot like Matt – or Philip I guess. A little shorter, same build, same color hair. Seemed a bit…annoyed with him actually."

Snow and James gave each other a look and then said together, "Lucas."

Emma started. "Lucas?"

"His cousin," explained Snow. "A travelling companion for some time before Philip married and succeeded his father's throne. After that, he returned to Glowerhaven."

"Glowerhaven?"

"One of Philip's provinces. As queen Magdalena's nephew, Lucas was named Duke of Glowerhaven and was apparently a very effective ruler."

Emma gave her head a violent shake. She felt like she was the only student in a European history class and hadn't yet done the homework. "Well he's…apparently Matt's partner now." She turned to her mother. "They were the ones who brought Thomas to the hospital." Snow gasped. "This morning Mat-uh Philip told me he was sure that someone _else _had gotten there first and saved his life. I'm almost positive it was Shane, but I can't prove that until I talk to Thomas."

"Which you can do tomorrow morning after you get some sleep," said James who felt like his _own_ brain was going to explode. He couldn't imagine the information-overload his daughter was experiencing. He picked his jacket off the kitchen counter, leaned across the island and kissed his wife. "I mean it," he said, stepping over to Emma as he shrugged on his coat. "You've done enough for one day. Let it all sink in for now and start again fresh tomorrow."

Emma rewarded her father with a weak smile, but she had no intention of calling it a night. She was wide awake now – there were simply too many questions she needed answered. "I will," she lied, casting her mother a sardonic grin. Snow smiled back, but neither would deny James a smooth exit. Of the three of them, he had perhaps suffered the most agony tonight simply by being forced to the sidelines.

"G'night Emma," he said softly and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head.

A flash of light ignited before her eyes and Emma felt something yank at her stomach. At once she felt as if she'd been wrenched backward, the world spinning before her like a vortex, lifting her away from her parents. Her eyes slammed shut and she could hear nothing of the world in which stood her mother's tiny kitchen. Instead she was thrust into a strange room, octagonal in shape, with deep oak trimming along the walls and an opulent light fixture hanging above her head.

"The wardrobe," she heard from a far corner. Emma turned her head and gasped as she beheld a couple nestled together on a large bed beneath a sheer canopy. It was her parents! James and Snow, looking weathered and exhausted as they hunched over a small bundle in Snow's arms. "It only takes one," said Snow.

Pain slammed into her gut as she felt a force almost pulling her against her will towards the bed. Her mother had long, wild black hair curtaining down her back. Her father was dressed in what her confused mind could only interpret as 'princely apparel' – a loose white tunic, black pants and leather boots. "Then our plan has failed," he said hopelessly. Neither of them seemed to notice her as she approached. They were engrossed in each other, in the baby resting in her mother's arms – the baby Emma only vaguely realized must be _her_, though her warped mind couldn't fully comprehend it. "At least we're together," said James, resigning himself to their fate. Only then did Emma become aware of the violent pounding outside these walls – sounds of intrusion, of a siege on the palace getting closer and closer outside the door.

"No," said Snow, a look of steadfast resolve steeling over her tear-stricken face. "No, you have to take her. Take the baby to the wardrobe."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"No. It's the only way. You have to send her through."

"No-no-no, you don't know what you're saying!"

"No I do. We have to believe that she'll come back for us!" cried Snow. Emma stood right before them at the foot of the bed, watching in acute agony as she witnessed this painful memory. She had read about it of course in the book. These were the very first pages Henry ever gave her – the pages he'd torn from the book to protect her identity from the evil queen. But that was months ago – long before she'd realized it was all true, long before she believed these brave souls before her were her parents. "We have to give her her best chance," said Snow, her voice so resigned, so sad – but absolutely certain it was the right call. "Goodbye Emma," Snow whispered, and Emma's heart bled for the sight of it.

She watched as James gathered baby Emma in his arms, kissed Snow with a passion reserved only for fairy tales, and left her side. Emma gasped as James passed right through her – she was a phantom here, a silent observer. And as she turned to watch James pull a sword from the rack near the door, bid his wife one last look as if they too were saying goodbye, and then disappear down the hallway, Emma felt herself slowly pulled forward again, transported back through the vortex, and plopped right back on 'Mary Margaret's' kitchen stool.

James drew back from Emma and chuckled softly at the look of absolute shock on his daughter's face. Honestly, it was just a kiss on the head. The girl was just going to have to start getting used to a little affection from her father. He patted her on the arm, nodded to Snow, and headed out.

Emma blinked as the door closed behind him. Had that really just happened? She whirled around and looked at Snow, but her mother had returned to her cocoa making and was retrieving her trademark cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. Had the two of them not just seen her…what, disappear? Fly away from them? What the hell had just happened? She'd just witnessed the first and only time she'd ever spent with her parents as a child. She had to have been standing in that bedroom for at least 5 minutes.

"Emma?" asked Snow, her voice still seeming a bit far away as Emma tried to readjust to reality – if this really _was _reality. But her head was spinning so much it was hard to tell. "Emma are you all right?"

Emma looked up, her mouth hanging open a bit, but she managed to recover enough to nod and close her hands around the warm, tangible cup of cocoa Snow slid across the counter. "Yeah um…just…just tired. Didyou…" she paused, glancing around her, rechecking her surroundings. "Did you just…hear something? See something?"

Snow rested her elbows on the island, bringing her own steaming mug to her lips. "Like what?"

"I don't know a…a flash or…someone pounding? On the door?"

Snow's brow creased. "James stomps pretty loudly down that front stoop," she suggested.

Emma shook her head. Her mother truly had no idea what she was talking about and, on the off chance that she was losing it, decided not to push it. "Never mind," she said. "Maybe James is right. I um…I think I need a rest."

Her mother smiled, reaching across the counter as she set her mug down on a coaster. "It's been a long day," she admitted and covered her daughter's hand with her own.

At once the same wrenching in her gut yanked her backward. Bracing herself as she flew through her vortex, she expected to open her eyes to the same scene again – picking up where she left off with James rushing out of the room, but the palace bedroom never appeared. Instead, she was still in Mary Margaret's kitchen…except the lights were dimmed, and Snow was alone, bustling around the apartment, gathering Emma's things, half of which were…still in boxes? She was moving swiftly too, almost singing to herself, and it took Emma a second to realize that she was not limping. There was no cast on her ankle. No crutches in sight. "Snow?" she said, her voice tiny and hoarse. But her mother did not hear her. A soft chirp sounded at the window sill; four bluebirds perched along the window's edge, propping up a small bouquet of Michaelmus daisies sprinkled with baby's breath. Snow broke into wide grin and hurried over to the window, taking the bouquet from her friends. "James," she whispered, patting the heads of her tiny blue messengers as she set a candy dish in front of them to feast on. Gathering the flowers close to her, she took a deep breath and padded over to the kitchen to retrieve a vase. After spending a few minutes arranging them in water, Snow stepped back and smiled at the bouquet. Then, silent as a mouse, she glanced up at the ceiling and whispered, "Sweet dreams, sweet girl…your father says 'goodnight.'"

Emma knew where she was now, or rather _when _she was. This must be that first night: the night after Snow's fated rendezvous with James at the toll bridge when their love broke through the curse. She recognized the outfit her mother was wearing, the suspicious vase of daisies that had just "appeared" the next day. And almost as soon as she deciphered the vision, Emma was removed again through her vortex and plopped once more back on her stool.

Snow withdrew her hand from her daughter and narrowed her gaze. "Emma?" she asked again. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Emma juddered her head back and forth. "Why?" she asked resolutely. Perhaps this time her mother had seen something.

"You just," Snow hesitated, "you had a kind of…faraway look for a second."

Emma blinked. A _second_? Try _fifteen _minutes this time. After all, her mother had taken quite a long time to tidy up all of Emma's things. "No I'm…I'm ok," she said. About as ok as long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs! But Snow seemed just as oblivious as James had moments before. Something very strange was happening to her. Either she was having visions of her family…or she'd finally gone off the deep end. "I was just…thinking of that first night I came back remember?" She managed to fake a laugh, "when I thought your date with 'David' had…ended badly?"

Snow, who had removed herself to the sink and was rinsing out her cup, dropped her spoon with a clatter and spun around. "That's so strange!" she cried. "I was _just _thinking of the same thing."

Emma drew back from the counter, hopping off the stool and backing slowly, though she hoped casually, away. "Really?" she said.

Snow shook her head, smiling at how in sync she and her daughter had grown to be. "Well…" she wrinkled her nose and winked, "'Great minds' and all that."

Emma purposefully kept her distance as Snow readied for bed. Both visions had erupted the second each of her parents touched her, and Emma didn't think her stomach could take one more nauseating trip to the past. She supposed a part of her felt guilty keeping this little development from them, but until she understood it herself, she was too scared to bring it up. Perhaps this was some fairy-tale sign she was going crazy. Some indication that she was – Emma shuddered – afflicted with some degree of madness like Jefferson. The thought terrified her, and she didn't want to risk her parents giving her that horrible look of pity she'd faced so often in orphanages and foster homes when government care-takers mumbled about how "unfortunate" it was that she was such a trouble-maker.

As casually as she could manage, Emma retrieved Henry's storybook from the coffee table and told her mother she was going upstairs to read. Snow nodded and said goodnight, still completely unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Emma closed the door to her tiny loft, breathing a sigh of relief as she lay back on the bed, clutching the book to her chest. Why was she having visions? And why were they suddenly starting _now_? She wondered if there was anyone in Storybrooke who might know, and she briefly thought of going to Archie. But Archie himself wasn't truly awake and was simply following 'David's' lead until their adventures led him to his own happy ending.

Feeling safe, or at least shielded in her room, Emma resigned herself to the fact that whatever the nature of this strange new development, she would not solve it tonight. Haunted by the vision of her father's grief-stricken face, her mother's unfathomable sacrifice, Emma gripped the edges of the book even tighter, longing for the burnt pages which told the story of those final minutes before she was placed in the wardrobe. She'd read them so long ago, she wished she had them now to compare.

After what felt like hours of quiet contemplation, she cracked open the book, anxious for a distraction, and started sifting through its pages. She skimmed the earlier chapters of her parents' story, smoothed her hand over the oil paintings depicting their first encounter and subsequent meetings. She held her breath, half expecting another vision to flash before her as she touched the pages, but nothing happened. Sighing in relief, she paged through and re-read a few excerpts about Thomas and Ella, smiling in spite of her tumultuous evening, for she knew they were both awake now, their family renewed and whole. She leafed through several chapters of text about Belle and Adam, marveling at how epic and downright mythological their tale clearly was from the pictures alone…and then the book fell open to a new story. One she had not yet read…

_Philip, the heir of Braemar, and his cousin Lucas, Duke of Glowerhaven, were in no great hurry to reach Agrabah as they dutifully trotted their horses along the ancient paths…_

Emma straightened up on her bed, throwing a pillow against the headboard and leaning against it as she focused more intensely on the story…

_Companions since birth, Philip and Lucas were Braemar's most infamous bachelors, gallivanting throughout the realms, winning tournaments, crashing parties, disguising themselves as mere villagers and challenging unknowing knights to pointless duels…_

Gallivanting through the realms? Infamous bachelors? Challenging knights to pointless duels? James wasn't kidding…

"_Have you learned nothing from our adventures, Cousin?" he tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment._

"_On the contrary, I have learned a great deal! How else would I know to keep an extra flask of rum in my tunic so that I might have something left to trade when the Badland gypsies steal our horses?"_

"_A valuable lesson that belongs in every Braemarian schoolhouse, to be sure," Philip replied with a satisfied nod. "But I was referring to our one and _only_ rule."_

"_Which is?" Lucas prompted him, though he mouthed the answer along with the prince._

"Never_ follow the rules." _

Emma laughed out loud at the amusing banter and was thankful for the unexpected levity in her evening. She liked this Philip. She found herself picturing Matt Clancy speaking these words – they suited him. And the meticulously detailed illustrations above the prose removed any lingering doubts. Just as her parents suggested, Philip and Lucas were the spitting images of Matt and Trent…

_Philip nodded and turned to mount his horse when an arrow zoomed past his ear and struck the trunk of a nearby tree. "Your Highness!" shouted the duke, throwing himself over the prince and knocking him to the ground just as another arrow flew toward his head. _

"_Gypsies?" Lucas asked, inspecting the surrounding woods that had considerably thinned at the forest's edge and yet still managed to conceal their aggressors._

"_Highwaymen," said Philip…_

Emma devoured the pages, fairly certain _this _had never been part of the Sleeping Beauty story. In fact, Lucas's whole _character_ had never been part of the Sleeping Beauty story now that she thought of it, though after reading just a brief snippet of their relationship, she couldn't imagine the one without the other…

"_Gods and demons," spat Lucas, jumping back from the man groaning beneath him. The brute was wearing a dark green tunic, brown breeches and faded sash wrapped around his waist. His head was practically covered in hair, a red bushy beard growing over his entire mouth and thickset eyebrows covering his drooping eyes. "Robin's men?" Lucas asked._

_Philip used his boot to flip the man fully on his back. "Maybe," he said, glancing down at the small fox crudely embroidered in the sash. "Certainly the right insignia."_

"_Imposters," came a voice behind them, and the two men whirled around, swords raised in expectation. "Robin's men only attack land jobbers and tax collectors," said the stranger who wasn't at all alarmed by the outstretched swords. "These men are just common thieves looking to trade on Robin's name."_

_Confident this man was not an immediate threat, Lucas sheathed his sword and stepped forward. The man was fairly dark-skinned, his sharp nose and angular jaw distinctly Arabian, though his dress reflected their own local apparel. He held a long, slender bow in his left hand strung with silver horsehair. "And you are?" Lucas asked._

"_Passing through," said the stranger…_

Emma turned the page and gaped at the image before her. "Holy shit!" she whispered, mindful that her mother was probably sound asleep by now. The illustration was a little fuzzy – a wider shot from a sideways angle, but even so, she was _sure _she recognized the stranger next to Philip. She read on, laughing when the effortless thief stole the prince's flask, when the duke chided his cousin for making friends with the stranger instead of reprimanding him. Emma flipped ahead a few pages, hoping for a clearer illustration, and soon found one. She was positive now. The stranger was Shane!

"_What's your name, son?" asked the Prince, holding his hand out for the flask. _

_The thief hesitated, glancing between the prince and his companion before he sighed and handed it over. "Aladdin," he said at last…_

Aladdin! Shane was Aladdin?! She definitelyknew _that_ story, and now that she thought about the warm, Mediterranean features of their resident jailbird, she wondered why she'd never thought of it before. Her son's voice popped in her head: _"I think things'll get a lot easier for all of you if you just read the stupid book!"_ Emma grinned. The kid was right…as usual…

"_Never seen a man from Agrabah handle a bow like that, Aladdin," he nodded at the quiver strung to his back._

_Aladdin shrugged, tugging on the strap. "When you're on the run, you have to adapt, your Highness."_

"_On the run?" Lucas joined in reluctantly, having calmed down his charger and returned to the clearing. "From whom?"_

"_From the sultan."_

"_The sultan!?" both men cried together._

"_Well," amended Aladdin with a grin, "from Razoul, his chief guard."_

"_Oh," said Philip, slightly less impressed. _

"_There's a price on my head," he went on to explain. "And he's got the entire Imperial guard on the lookout."_

"_What did you do?" asked Lucas, stroking the pelt between Wellington's eyes as he fed the beast a carrot. _

_Aladdin grew quiet, folded his arms over his chest and looked away. "Nothing new," he said softly. "Just…got caught."…_

Her fascination with Philip quickly gave way to ravenous curiosity over the street rat. If Shane was Aladdin, there was no possible way that he'd attacked Thomas. And if Aladdin really had saved Philip's life, it was a safe bet that 'Shane' was the kind of person who would have saved 'Sean…

"_You don't _enjoy _making a living like this Al," Philip continued, "You help those in trouble and you take only what you need. Please," he extended his hand again, all joshing and cleverness aside. "You saved our lives. Let me help clear your name"…_

_At long last, the thief looked up, grasped Philip's hand and gave it a firm shake. "All right," he said quietly. "Take me home…"_

No _wonder_ 'Matt' felt so strongly about the voice on the other end of that 911 call. Without realizing it, Philip had connected with someone very important from his past. Perhaps they were both on the paths to their happy endings now, just from that one shared experience of Thomas's attack! She read on, surrendering herself to the narrative as the book enticed her to continue…the way any good book should…

_It didn't take long for Jasmine and Lucas to find each other once the official greetings, negotiations and obligatory ceremony for welcoming foreign guests were completed. And the sultan certainly had no objections to Jasmine's seeking out the duke for private conversation. Unfortunately the old king chose not to listen to his daughter as she insisted many times over that she and Lucas had not the slightest inkling of romantic affection for one another. Jasmine swore she would never marry, and Lucas…well the duke's heart was forever bound elsewhere. _

_Still, it didn't prevent the two from meeting and sharing stories as friends, and Jasmine was most anxious to discern what adventures had led to the small party from Braemar arriving with one of Agrabah's most noted public enemies in tow – and requesting a full pardon on his behalf no less! What Lucas revealed about the boy, Aladdin, proved to be most enlightening…and useful. From the duke's account, Jasmine learned that having fled Agrabah after the failed raid on the treasury, Aladdin spent his days learning the traditions, customs…and combat styles of their neighboring kingdoms. In fact, though the thief would not admit as much out loud, Lucas believed that Aladdin may have spent a considerable amount of time with Robin of the Hood…from Nottingham._

_Now, as Jasmine peered around the mammoth base of the indoor colonnade, her pulse skittered along excitedly as she watched the young thief pacing the gold marble floors of the throne room, waiting anxiously, no doubt, to see why he'd been summoned here alone so soon after his pardoning. He could be it. He could be the key to her troubles. The answer to _her_ problems as well as her father's. And she had a feeling he would accept. After all…she'd been a long-time admirer of his work._

"_So," she shouted, her voice echoing in the large chamber as she stepped out from behind the giant pillar and walked toward the center of the room. Aladdin spun around. "_You're _one of the Forty Thieves who raided our treasury last year."_

_Aladdin tilted his head to the side, his brow immediately furrowed in suspicion. "I…don't believe there were forty of us, your Highness," he said cautiously, "but yes."_

_Jasmine shrugged, strolling casually across the marble, her teal satin slippers making light footfalls as she drew nearer to him. "I know," she said. "But _forty _thieves has a much nicer ring to it than _twelve_, don't you think?"_

_Again, Aladdin gave the princess a wary look. "I suppose so."_

"_And yet," Jasmine crossed her arms beneath her chest, standing defiantly, "you're the only one to date whom my father has pardoned. In fact," she paused as she started to pace a very slow, almost predatory circle around him, "I'm pretty sure you're the only _thief_ my father has _ever _pardoned. Now how in the world did you ever manage that?"_

_Aladdin peered at her through the ever-narrowing slits of his eyes, but as he observed her lithe movement and tuned to the sing-songyness of her voice, he realized he'd been cast in a curious game of cat and mouse, no doubt to satisfy some flirtatious, shallow whim of the spoiled princess. He didn't at all believe the rumors about her supposed escapades to the market place, disguising herself as a commoner to expose the injustices of the kingdom. Philip was the first royal he'd ever encountered who actually seemed to care for the common man beyond making sport with him. Stories about Snow of New Gaia and Thomas of Seven Gales, he was fairly certain, were exaggerated. "I rendered a service to the crown of Braemar, your Highness," Aladdin replied, mimicking her movements as he joined in her game. "Prince Philip saw fit to recommend me." The response, he knew, was unnecessary. She was toying with him, and so he humored her in return. Princess Jasmine had been present for his pardoning; she knew full well the reasons for it._

"_Well congratulations," she gave a slight nod as the two continued to circle each other, Jasmine inching them closer to the open veranda that overlooked the kingdom. "You clearly made quite an impression on Prince Philip."_

"_Saving a man's life'll do that, Princess," he smirked._

"_Yes, I suppose it will," she conceded, coming to stop right before him and then gesturing toward the veranda. Aladdin followed suit, accepting his role as her playmate…for now. "I do wonder though," Jasmine continued as they passed through thick scarlet curtains to the balcony, her voice instantly softening as it left the echoing chamber, "whether my father pardoned _all _your transgressions…or just this latest one?"_

_Aladdin halted just beyond the velvet curtains. "Excuse me?" he choked._

"All _of them, Aladdin," she repeated with an almost smug grin. "Or did he just pardon last year's raid?"_

_Aladdin sucked in a breath, on alert but maintaining an even strain. "I believe her Highness is mistaken," he said rather formally, now unsure of her agenda. "I had only one transgression to be forgiven."_

"_Oh come now, Aladdin," she said, wrinkling her nose as she approached him. "We _both _know that's not true. You are a _career_ criminal," she paused right before him and added, "and now a liar."_

_Adam managed a small grin, despite his clenched jaw. "And what makes you say that?"_

_Jasmine gave the air a casual wave as she slunk away from him and returned to the balcony. "Well, I have _eyes _don't I?"_

"_In theory, Princess," Aladdin returned, "but royals rarely know how to _use _them."_

_Jasmine spun around upon the retort. "You know I could have your tongue for that remark," she bit back._

_But as the former street rat had already begun playing with fire, he wasn't about to back down. "Doubtful, your Highness. You're enjoying this little banter far too much."_

_Jasmine bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning. "Perhaps," she granted him, "and I suppose you're not entirely wrong." She paused and glanced out over her kingdom. "There are some royals who can be…quite blind to the world around them." Aladdin started at the sudden regret in her voice. "But I assure you," she insisted, turning to face him once more, the flash of vulnerability vanishing so quickly Aladdin thought he might have imagined it. "This is one princess who has a _very _sharp eye. Sharp enough for instance," she stopped again, running an appraising gaze from head-to-toe, "to recognize a boy for the thief he is. You worked the southeast bazaar for two months." _

_Aladdin gulped. So those marketplace rumors _were_ true. Damn._

"_Why I once watched you steal two loaves of bread, a wheel of gouda, a jug of wine and a wooden beaded necklace all before breakfast," she continued, crossing her arms again with a satisfied grunt._

"_I um," Aladdin stammered, running his hands through his untamed black hair. "I believe you're mistaking me for another, your High—"_

"_Oh I'm quite sure it was you," she said, sidling towards him again. "I never forget a face." Brazenly, she placed the tip of her index finger on the tanned chest peeking out from beneath his tunic, "Especially the face of the only thief I've ever seen working…with a monkey," she finished with a whisper._

_Her touch sent thrills up his spine that, were she _not_ the Princess of Agrabah, he felt sure_ _he would have acted upon. "All right, Princess," he rasped and held his hands up in mock surrender. "You got me." Feeling he had nothing to lose, he took his own bold steps forward, prompting her to retreat to the very edge of the crescent-shaped balcony. "You gonna give me a head start before you run and tell 'daddy'?"_

"_Tell 'daddy'?" she chuckled. "Please. If I wanted my father to know any of this, you'd have been clapped in irons hours ago and on your way to the dungeon to join your eleven friends." _

_Incredulous, Aladdin took a step back._

"_I'm more than willing to keep quiet about the whole matter," she added._

_No longer amused, for there was _nothing _he detested more than blackmail, he leveled his gaze and spat, "In exchange for?"_

"_Not an exchange," she said, placing her palms on the smooth marble railing behind her and leaning back. "An offer."_

_The abrupt change in her demeanor from coquette to businesswoman was jarring, but Aladdin didn't let down his guard. "What kind of offer?"_

_Jasmine took a deep breath. He was intrigued, that much was certain. Angry, of course, but that would soon pass. This was it: her last best chance to ensure both her own happiness and her father's piece-of-mind. "I'm in need…of a tutor," she said at last. _

_Aladdin reeled back. "A tutor?!" he said. _

"_Yes."_

"_Surely there are far more educated men at your—"_

"_In this particular field of study, no," she cut-in. "The duke told me much about your travels: the time you spent in Braemar, Seven Gales…Nottingham. I believe you're the perfect man for the job." She ignored the look of utter disbelief on his face. She had no need of his approval or understanding. Only his services. "I want you to teach me…how to fight."_

"_To fight?" he spluttered, arms dropping loosely to his sides._

_She nodded._

"_What kind of fighting?"_

"_All kinds," she said, her voice wavering now, for there was no turning back. "How to string a bow, fire an arrow? Wield a sword? Even throw a punch. I need to learn it all."_

_Aladdin dropped his jaw, his chin thrust out in disbelief. He half felt compelled to check behind the curtains for the court jester or palace scribe. Surely this was some elaborate practical joke. "Why?" he asked, for it was the only word he could manage._

"_Why is of no concern to you," she replied tersely. "If you accept you will stay here in the palace as my private tutor. You will have a room and, should you desire, a manservant all to yourself, and we will conduct our lessons in secret. At their conclusion, you'll be free to go. Anywhere you wish – we will pay your way." She knew she was speaking rapidly, but the intensity of his gaze was doing strange things to her nerves._

"_I see," he said slowly, soaking it in like a sponge. "And if take it if I refuse, you'll—"_

"_If you refuse, you'll still be free to go," she said in haste. "I'll just be…disappointed." He gave her another overly incredulous look. "A teacher who is unwilling or been _coerced_ into teaching…is no teacher at all," she explained. "And I cannot afford anything less than _total _commitment to the post. I would regret very much if you refused, but as I said, it's an offer, not an ultimatum."_

_Every word from this woman's mouth seemed increasingly unbelievable, and yet at the same time Aladdin could tell she was in absolute earnest. He considered the matter carefully, combing through her words, trying to suss out the catch. But there wasn't one. The princess really just…wanted to learn how to fight. "And you're…not going to tell me why," he said evenly._

_Jasmine sighed impatiently. "As I said, it's of no concern to you—"_

"_The hell it isn't," he retorted, advancing on her again but this time without mockery or teasing. His remark startled her and she stumbled back against the railing. "Fighting is dangerous, your Highness. And _physical_. And I don't think—"_

"_That a _woman _can do it?" she hissed, incensed by the prejudice she perceived in his tone. "I assure you, I am _quite_ capable of—"_

_But Aladdin's hand shot up and he silenced her, looking even angrier than she was. "Hey, let's get something straight here: In her day, my _mother _fought as well as any man and better than most. It has _nothing _to do with you being a woman. It has _everything _to do with you being the _Princess_ of Agrabah."_

_Jasmine was utterly stunned. She had never_ _before encountered an Arabian man who allowed for a woman to be strong. She was so shocked in fact, that she could only shake her head in reply, eyes wide and urging him to explain._

"_You wanna learn to fight Princess?" he went on, inching so close to her, there was barely a breath of space between their noses, "you wanna learn hand-to-hand combat? Be thrown to the ground? Forced to fight off a man twice your weight who's pinning you to the floor?" He seized her wrist and brought her arm up between them as she curled her hand into a fist on impulse. "Then you're gonna explain why, because I'm not about to risk being caught in an uncompromising position with _Sultan Rushdi's daughter _without a damn good reason to show for it!"_

_Jasmine gasped, staring at the hot, bronze fingers clamped around her wrist. She should feel threatened, endangered by his sudden lack of reverence or decorum. But she felt only excitement. Excitement…and respect, for his concern was a valid one. And the very voicing of it meant he was actually considering her offer. "You're right," she whispered and instantly, his grip loosened though, significantly, he did not let go. "You're right. You…deserve to know." _

_Aladdin's breathing slowed as he continued to loosen his grip, trailing the tips of his fingers down the length of her forearm until gradually, regretfully, his hand fell away. _

_The princess shivered as the thief's subtle caress left a trail of fire tingling along her arm and a flutter in her heart she did not recognize. But she ignored both and drew her hands behind her back. "Please," she said, gesturing for her guest to sit down on the stone pew near the far end of the veranda. Aladdin followed her lead and the two sat an appropriate distance apart. "It's…no secret that my father has been trying to find me a husband," she began slowly._

_Aladdin nodded._

"_He's obsessed with the idea actually," she added, her voice directed inward with a twinge of resentment in her tone. "Anyone with the slightest trace of nobility in his blood is paraded in front of my veranda. Princes, dukes, lords, widowed kings – doesn't matter. As long as they're men and still _breathing, _he begs me to meet with them in the hopes that—" she stopped, realizing she had allowed bitterness to fester and carry her off…and in unusual company no less. She glanced sideways and saw in the thief's eyes neither mockery nor judgment. She cleared her throat and pressed on. "What is…_less _well known is the fact that the Sultan…is sick." _

_Aladdin sat up a little straighter. "Sick?" he asked, then shook his head. "But he didn't seem—"_

"_It's not a physical ailment," Jasmine explained quickly…painfully. "His mind is…weak. And he's slipping a little bit more every day. It's not noticeable. Not yet, thank the Gods, but it will be."_

_The princess's confession startled the thief, not only because it was so personal to begin with, but that she apparently already trusted him with such a weighty state secret. Either the woman was supremely desperate…or there was something else going on here that she hadn't yet revealed. "I'm…so sorry, your Highness."_

_Jasmine straightened up, adopting a very proper posture. She neither needed nor wanted his pity. "I intend to be my father's rightful successor, Aladdin," she said firmly, "and when the time comes where my father is no longer capable of ruling Agrabah with a steady hand, I _will _assume the throne as his rightful heir." She paused and glanced over her shoulder, peering out over the vast desert kingdom with a wistful smile. "I love these people," she said softly and Aladdin's heart broke. "And I believe I can be an effective monarch."_

"_There's no doubt of that, Princess," he said._

_Jasmine looked back to him, surprised by the sincerity there, but grateful. "Thank you," she said. "But on one thing I'm afraid my father and I agree: the people of Agrabah will _never _accept an unmarried woman as their empress." She gazed meaningfully across the bench as her words sunk in. "At least, not one who…is incapable…" she grasped for the words, "who is…unprepared to—"_

"_To defend her throne," said Aladdin, understanding dawning at last. He inhaled very slowly, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the balustrade. _

_Jasmine waited anxiously for him to continue. Surely he had more to say than that. But she could not, at the moment, get a clear read on him, and it irked her somewhat how much she suddenly valued his opinion._

"_So," he treaded carefully, "you want to learn to fight…so you can defend anyone who would challenge your rule in case you don't find a husband—"_

"_There's no 'in case', Aladdin," she said curtly. "I have no intention of marrying. Ever." She rose from the bench with an impatient sigh and returned once more to the balcony overlooking her land. "My father can throw every nobleman he wants at me. He could coax the prince of Ebonshire out of hiding for all I care, and I wouldn't budge."_

"_Why not?" Aladdin asked, knowing he shouldn't, but he couldn't help the fascination building inside him over this woman. What would make a princess, one so determined to rule her kingdom, reject the only sure-fire way her people would accept her?_

_Jasmine spun on her heel. He was still seated on the bench, waiting for her to explain. "I won't marry a man I don't love…and I don't believe in true love." Aladdin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and tucking one hand inside his other palm. Jasmine waited for his rebuttal, but it didn't come, and she was relieved for once not to be inundated with the typical platitudes she'd always gotten from the sultan. "My father had three wives," she went on, "my mother was his second sultana. And while I believe he truly _cared _for all of them, I don't think…I don't believe that…" she frowned and turned from his probing gaze. "I'm just not…built that way," she confessed, and then gripped the stone railing. "And I shouldn't have to be. I don't…fall _in_ love, Aladdin. But I love this kingdom. And I intend to lead it with a fair hand." She turned once more and was startled to find he had risen from his seat and was coming up behind her. "I can't do that without your help."_

_The thief settled next to her, leaning sideways against the balcony as he propped his elbow up on the railing. "One question," he said softly. "Why me?" She didn't answer immediately, but a thoughtful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You said so yourself: I'm a _career _criminal. I raided _your _treasury. Why not ask one of your trained guards to help? Or one of your father's warriors who just helped defeat the _Snow Queen?_"_

"_Because I trust _you_," she replied evenly and with absolute certainty._

_Aladdin's eyes narrowed. "Says the woman who watched me _stealing _from honest men and women at the southeast bazaar for no _less _than two months," he replied._

"_As I said, Aladdin, I have _eyes_. I may have watched you working the town before breakfast, but by lunch you'd already given most of it away." _

"_What?" he drew back._

"_You don't remember?" she smiled, tilting her head. "You gave the loaves and cheese to a group of hungry children huddled along the city wall, the wine to a crippled old man and," she paused and nodded toward his chest, "I'm guessing since it's not around your neck, the wooden beads went to someone…special."_

_As if he could still feel it there, Aladdin brought his hand to his chest and massaged the bare skin near the dip of his neck, remembering the trinket fondly that he'd not been able to resist taking that day. "Very special," he murmured hoarsely. _

_Something sharp twisted in her stomach and her brain stubbornly denied it as a flash of jealousy. "Your wife?" she asked casually._

_Aladdin grinned as his hand fell back at his side. "My mother," he said._

_The pain in her gut evaporated. "You're an honest man Aladdin," she said, "and you steal because in Agrabah…it's necessary to do so. One of many things I hope to change once I'm empress. But I can't withstand the challenges of the court or the uproar sure to follow my ascension if I rely on men like Razoul or the thugs my father hires to build his armies. I don't believe they'll teach me what I really need to know…you will."_

"_You're sure about that?" he arched an eyebrow, but she could tell it was a playful tease._

"_What do you have to lose?" she quipped._

"_My freedom, apparently."_

_But she shook her head. "I told you. This is an offer…not a threat."_

_Aladdin regarded her carefully, mulling over her words and her confessions. This princess's heart certainly wasn't made of ice. In fact, he was willing to bet the woman before him was capable of much more love than she gave herself credit for. But her blind faith in him was more disturbing than it was flattering. She might have spent a considerable amount of time in the slums of Agrabah, trying to discern the ways of her people as she hid among them, but to assume so much with so little to base it on was concerning. Aladdin had stolen plenty of food in his time that he'd shared with no one but Abu. And though he had indeed spent an entire season with Robin of the Hood, he didn't always agree with the steadfast altruism of Sherwood Forest's merry men. _

_Still, her sincerity moved him, and it was perhaps _because _of her naivety that he was willing to accept. After all, if he didn't, she would find someone else. And he cringed at the many men who came to mind that she might similarly mistake for good souls. "All right, your Highness," he said straightening up and extending his hand. "You have yourself a tutor"…_

When Emma awoke, morning light shone clearly through the window of her loft. She didn't know when exactly she'd fallen asleep, but a quick peek at the book lying open on her chest suggested it was somewhere near the point where Aladdin accepted Jasmine's offer. Jasmine – now _there_ was a princess Emma could get behind: a warrior disguised by beauty and station, just like her mother. Suddenly she regretted not going with Graham yesterday to visit Jade Pilfer. What had happened between them here? Clearly these two were destined for romance – _that_ was as clear as the image before her, a beautiful portrait of the two of them standing on the princess's veranda with the opulent Arabian palace towering behind them. Emma flipped the book fully open on her lap and sat cross-legged on the bed, anxious to continue, but she'd barely found her place again when her phone buzzed.

Sighing, Emma reached over and plucked it off the small desk beneath the window. She glanced at the caller ID. "Hello?" she answered immediately.

"Emma?" cried a frantic Snow White.

"Snow? What's wrong?" Emma leapt up from the bed, panicked by the very tone in her mother's voice.

"It's Henry," she replied, and Emma could practically _see_ her tugging the roots of her black hair. "He never showed up for school."

…

The crippled man arrived at his shop very early that morning leaning extra hard on his cane, for his brief jaunt through the woods had aggravated the old wound. He didn't complain though. He had suspicions to confirm and theories to test, and a decades-old injury was not about to delay his work. Nothing had happened last night when Shane palmed the lamp, so there was still work to be done there. But the well…the well had risen from its depths, and the water it housed would no doubt come in useful as events in Storybrooke continued to unfold.

Like a scrooge, he inventoried his back room of artifacts, calculating what, when, and how objects needed to be brought to light. He supposed there were quite a few treasures that he needn't have collected over the years, but he could never be certain as to what _would_ be needed once the savior arrived, so he'd stored it all. Now, of course, he was quite pleased to have had the foresight to salvage that fine crystalline mobile, Geppetto's old kiln, and Aladdin's lamp. Perhaps the others would come in handy sooner than anticipated.

The bell above the customer entrance jingled twice, and Gold stepped out from his back room to his glass counter. Right on schedule, the only other sly, sophisticated chap with a cane in this town sauntered up the aisle and came to a halt at the register. The two regarded each other, and to an outside observer it might have seemed as if the two were having some sort of a contest to see who had the sharper glint in his eye. "Well?" said Gold. "Is it done?"

Honest John licked his lips, his gaze sliding up to the ceiling with an artful tilt of the head. "How does that old poem go, Gold? 'The children were nestled all snug in their beds?'"

Gold cracked a grin that bared his nasty teeth. "Don't tell me you caught that infective holiday spirit bug, John."

"Not at all," he quipped, returning his gaze to his employer. "I barely got a glimpse of the festival. Too busy handling your dirty work."

The older man let the comment slide. After all, he knew John had an especial fondness for dirty work, especially that which paid _five times_ what Regina paid to keep him happy. "And you convinced her it was the right course of action, yes?" said Gold. "She won't regret it and demand you fetch him back?"

John chuckled and placed his palms on the cold glass counter, leaning in to flamboyant effect. "She killed one of Snow's bluebirds right before the kid's eyes," he sneered. "I don't think she's got any lingering illusions about her future as his mother."

"Good," Gold replied, punching a large green button on his register. A drawer popped out and he lifted the money tray inside, reaching for a thin manila pouch. "Five thousand, as promised."

John snatched his fee from Gold's hand and tucked it safely in his breast pocket. "Not that I'm complaining, old man," he said, giving his lapel an extra pat, "but where did you _get _all this money?"

Gold had moved down his glass counter and was now delicately handling the golden seashell that still hung on its chain. "I made a very wise bargain," he replied, "a long time ago."

John shrugged. He'd only asked for the sake of making conversation. As long as the money kept coming, he didn't give a rat's ass where it came from. "So now what?" he said, expecting his next assignment.

"Now we wait," Gold replied, tucking the shell and chain in his pocket.

"Wait for what?"

But Gold didn't reply. John needn't know. Not now, not yet. And what he didn't know couldn't accidentally be leaked to Regina in the lad's insatiable need to have the last word.

John sighed; clearly he'd served his purpose. "Well, as always, call when you have need of me." He started toward the door.

"The Zimmers' father," Gold called out, though his eyes remained fixed on his trinkets. "I trust he is still…comfortable?"

John smirked, shouldering his cane with its tip pointed touched to the brim of his horridly out-of-fashion-though-no-less-charming hat. "Comfortable is a…strong word, Gold," he said. "But he's secure, yes."

"Ensure he stays that way," ordered the pawn broker.

"For how much longer?"

But again, Gold didn't reply. John needn't know. Not now…not yet.

…

*****Well, school is basically kicking my butt, so I'm sorry it's been a few weeks since the last one. Hopefully there's enough here (in terms of length I mean…I honestly think this is the longest chapter yet) to appease all you wonderful subscribers out there, as well as all the new folks favoriting and "following!" Props to all you readers – you have kept this story going with your readership and reviews and I couldn't be more humbled by your responses.**

**(See how I'm buttering you all up so I don't get hate mail about Lucy?)**

**Honestly though, I didn't want to do it. It was all Regina's fault really. She made me. Well, her and John. What a bugger! Hope you enjoyed a little more of Al and my first scene with Jas. I was super "jazzed" to write it (ha ha…I'm going to pun hell) and I hope you enjoyed reading it.**

**I will get to Philip, Aurora, Lucas and more soon enough, but for now, I'm about to head into another busy bout of schoolwork so I will just say Ciao!**

**-Nikstl*****


	34. The Seer

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**The Seer**

Joel got out of his car as he did every morning. He ascended the stone stoop to his little book shop as he did every day. And he opened up his tiny store as he had done for, well for as long as he could remember. But for some reason, though his routine was the same as every morning and every day for as long as he could remember, something felt…different. He paused and turned to the street, breathing in the crisp, wintery air and inspecting the state of things in Storybrooke. All seemed as it should be. Marco was headed into his auto shop, flipping on lights and lifting the heavy metal chains that protected his front windows. The rich scents of marinara sauce and melting mozzarella sauce was already wafting from the vents of Tony's restaurant and deli. And many of the town's elderly were already out enjoying their early-morning walks. Yes, all was well in Storybrooke. In fact, the only thing he could see that was even remotely different in the morning routine was the young man jogging across the street – one of the paramedics, he believed, whom Joel normally didn't see jogging, especially in this cold. But it all seemed quite harmless. So, with a shrug, he fully turned his key and walked into his book shop, muttering a simple prayer to himself that maybe, just maybe, the holiday cheer inspired by last night's ceremony would bring some customers to his counter.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, however, that strange, eerie feeling again descended on his soul. The lights were off and the shop was still, but there were muted sounds coming from the stock room. "Shh!" he thought he heard. "Stop shovin' me!" came another muffled response. Joel should have turned right around and called the sheriff. There was an intruder here – possibly two! And quite the clumsiest crooks he'd ever heard of. But a strange curiosity possessed him and he found himself moving towards the stockroom, rather than away from it. Passing through the thin door, Joel reached around the corner and flipped on the light.

"Hey Joel!" came the first, hasty voice.

"You're gonna thank us for this someday, buddy," replied the second. Then everything went dark.

…

Every time his door creaked, Thomas's eyes sprang open, and he jerked his head over, certain it was another of Regina's allies come to finish the job. Even as perfectly innocent nurses tended to his breakfast and checked his vitals, Thomas couldn't help feeling as if he were every moment in peril. Jafar's attempt on his life last night was iron-clad proof that the queen had placed powerful people in high places – people loyal to the cause of destroying happy endings, keeping Storybrooke's citizens forever stuck in this town. Had it not been for Adam…

Thomas didn't even want to think of it – how close he'd come to simply letting the old Vizier poison him. And that wasn't even the scary part. Rushdi's old advisor was a legend in his _own _mind, and his attempt to overthrow Agrabah was certainly headline news among the realms, but few had ever actually _met _Jafar. The villain didn't accompany the sultan and princess to other kingdoms, and when Agrabah entertained guests of its own, Jafar usually made himself scarce. How many more evil-doers were lurking among them here, completely undetected? How many adversaries were walking around town, easily blending in with the crowd simply because they need not fear of being recognized?

As it was, the only one among them who had actually seen Jafar before was Christopher, who was likely still chiding himself for not following his instincts and insisting that he be allowed to stay in the room when Fisk came in. Thomas had spent a good portion of last evening, once Christopher had returned from the cafeteria, reassuring his father that it wasn't his fault …but the king's guilt wasn't so easily assuaged.

"Good morning," came a deep voice from the door, and Thomas once again jerked in his bed. Instantly he relaxed as said king entered his room.

"Pop," Thomas sighed as his father approached them with two steaming cups of coffee. He glanced out the window and chuckled softly that it was still relatively dark. "You're here awfully early."

"And you're surprised?" returned the king as he settled in the chair next to his son. "Any more attempts?"

Thomas shook his head as he took a refreshingly hot gulp of coffee. "No, but every time that door opens…"

Christopher nodded. "I understand. I wish you had let me stay last night—"

The prince shot his father a stern, though still light-hearted look. "Yes, but you had _other _affairs to tend to. Is it done?"

The king nodded. "Yes," he said with a placid smile. "She accepted without reservation. Ella and Alexandra are back at the manor."

Thomas took another swig, deciding he'd chalk up the sting behind his eyes to the piping hot coffee rather than the overwhelming joy at knowing that his family was finally under one roof again. "Good," he managed, his voice shaky.

Christopher smiled, thinking fondly of the look on Ella's face last night as she'd carried little Alexandra into the recently prepared nursery that had once been 'Sean's' room. After everything he took from them, it was cathartic to be able to give something back. The king sipped his coffee and then glanced down at his son's covered legs. "Any change today?"

Thomas shook his head. "Doctor Whale said the swelling has gone down substantially, but I still can't move them."

"Dr. Whale?" the king straightened up. "He's still treating you?"

Thomas nodded.

"There's something…off about that man."

"I know," admitted the prince, "James and Snow have said as much, but I don't think he's…aware of what's going on. He may be an ally of Regina's, but I don't think he has much power. Not here anyway. Otherwise Snow wouldn't have been able to manipulate him so easily."

A pause settled between them as Christopher took another generous gulp, gathering up the courage to say what must now be said. "Thomas…I'm so sorry."

The prince rolled his eyes, "Pop, we've been over this. There's no way you could have known what Jafar was going to—"

"I'm not talking about Jafar," said the king, staring down at his cup, filled with shame.

Thomas looked quizzically at his father. What in the world did he have to feel— "Father," he said at once, figuring it out. He shook his head "Don't—"

"Please, you must allow me to say it," he said, finally meeting his son's gaze. "What I did to you, as 'Mitchell' is perhaps…explainable." He glanced down again, fresh tears welling in his eyes. "But I will _never _forgive myself for the way I betrayed your wife."

"Father please—" Thomas leaned forward, cursing the paralysis that kept him chained to the bed.

"No, you must listen," Christopher insisted, rising to his feet and standing before the prince. "I had a long talk with James last night. He called and asked if we needed help moving Ella and Alexandra back into the manor. I asked him to tell me everything he'd learned about this…this curse, and he shared his theories."

"Pop—"

"He told me he believed the curse amplifies our weaknesses. Accentuates are severest flaws. I believe…" Christopher's voice hitched in his throat. "Thomas, I believe he's right."

Thomas was still shaking his head, hating Regina even more. It was bad enough for the curse to have created these heinous personas, but even awakening from them had its price – how were they ever to get over the guilt of having been such abysmal versions of themselves? "It was the curse, Father. Not you. You can't be responsible for how you acted as Mitchell," Thomas tried to explain.

"Perhaps not," continued the king, "but I am to blame for the impetus that bore him." Thomas stared as Christopher continued. "I…I _blamed_ her."

He blinked. "What?"

"I blamed her, son. Ella. For your disappearance."

Thomas closed his eyes. "Oh father…"

"When Ella returned to Seven Gales without you, when she told me that Rumpelstiltskin had cast you into Limbo after his capture, I…Gods forgive me, Thomas. I tried not to, but I couldn't fight the grief. I was…lost without you, son. And in my misery I became bitter, resentful…of her." He glanced up again, forcing himself to face the prince. "I carried that resentment with me into the curse. Had I not been so weak…the curse, it wouldn't have…I wouldn't have been so easily…" he couldn't finish, for the shame robbed him of his very ability to speak.

Thomas was silent for many moments, allowing his father the space to recover. He again cursed his injuries, wanting so desperately to pull the king into a fierce hug and assure him of his forgiveness. But he would have to settle for words. "Pop," he said softly, reaching out to clasp his hand over Christopher's wrist. "I know the curse…these _years_…have been unkind to both of us. And I know there's nothing I can say right now that will relieve you of the guilt you think you deserve." He gave his hand a squeeze, prompting the king to look up. "But I beg that you not let it consume you."

The king shook his head, "Son—"

"There's nothing to forgive. When it mattered most, you were _there _for her," Thomas insisted, sitting up as straight as he could on the cot. "It was _your _love that freed her from the curse, Father. Not mine. And I know there's _no one _we're looking forward to having in Alexandra's life _more _than her grandfather."

Christopher opened his mouth to reply, but he could not find the words. His son's forgiveness was more than he deserved, but for their sake, he would try to be worthy of it.

"He's right you know," came a sweet, soft voice from the doorway. Both men turned to see Ella herself gliding across the floor, Alexandra cradled against her shoulder. "She already misses you when you go away," she smiled, holding out her baby girl to the wearied king. Christopher smiled gratefully and scooped the sleeping babe against his chest while Ella moved past them to join her husband, lacing her hand with his at the edge of the bed. "I told him all of this last night, you know," she murmured against Thomas's cheek after she leaned in and kissed him.

"I have no doubt," Thomas smirked, reaching out to stroke his fingers through her hair. He glanced sideways at the king and whispered _very _loudly, "the old man's too stubborn for his own good."

Alexandra was having the same healing effect on Christopher as she often had on Ella, so the king was at least able to crack a smile at his son's light teasing. Thankful the reprieve, though no more absolved of his guilt, he allowed the matter to drop for the sake of his granddaughter and his lovely daughter-in-law.

"I hear you two are getting settled?" Thomas asked his wife, shifting himself over on the bed so she could hop up beside him.

"We are," she said with a grin, watching their daughter squirm and coo in Christopher's arms. "Alex loves her new room."

Christopher started to rock, calming the girl once more, and looked up. "Though depending on how long we're…here," he said, "we might have to think about redecorating. There are few too many sports trophies littered about for a princess of Seven Gales." He glanced down at his son. "Your alter ego sure had a thing for baseball, Thomas."

"No more so than his father," Thomas rejoined, thankful there were at least some parts of their contrived pasts they could think on without pain.

"And who's to say our daughter won't grow to be an athlete like _her_ father?" Ella turned to Thomas with a glint in her eye, loving that she could at last look upon her husband without Ashley's doubts and worries in her head. "If I recall, my step sisters once raved about having been invited to see the 'handsome Prince's latest tennis match with the Duke of Whalen."

Thomas rolled his eyes, unsure which annoyed him more – the fact that he'd been obligated to invite step-sister Marguerite as a member of the court, or his substantially embellished reputation as the realm's best tennis player. "Every nobleman knows to let the 'prince' win, Ella," he tried to explain. "The Duke of Whalen threw the match."

"But Philip did not," his father quipped, reminding him of the rather sore loser from Braemar.

At this, Thomas grinned. "Well, _tennis _was never Philip's game."

It seemed almost surreal to Ella that they were sitting here so jovially when not even twelve hours ago, they were screaming at each other, putting on the performance of their lives. Irked somewhat that the decision to relocate to Christopher's manor had been decided upon without her, Ella nevertheless agreed that it was the best option considering the circumstances: Thomas couldn't possibly go back to faking his coma after last night's encounter with Jafar. He had to be on high alert as long as he was still in the hospital. And if 'Sean' was awake in Storybrooke, everyone would expect a reconciliation between Mitchell and Ashley as inevitable. So it was decided. The "Hermans" would publically come together as a family again – and Ella and Alexandra would move in with Christopher _immediately _to ensure protection against certain relatives who were liable to be quite angry upon hearing of their reunion.

"How are you feeling today?" Ella asked softly, brushing her fingers gently across lingering bruises and scrapes on his jaw and arm.

"Better _now_," Thomas replied in that low, velvety rumble of his that made her ache for him.

Christopher cleared his throat. "Well, Alexandra, I think it's time you and I took a little walk," he joked, but as he turned to retreat from the pair of lovers, they were all surprised by a new guest in the room – Graham.

"Sheriff!" Christopher said, glancing back at his son. "Back so soon?" Graham had stopped by very briefly the night before to take down the report on Adam's attack. In doing so, the huntsman had quickly confirmed the two were "awake" (as he was informed of by Emma) and revealed his true identity to the king and prince of Seven Gales.

"With more to report, your Majesty," said Graham in a hushed voice as he approached the group by the bed.

"Your _majesty_?" Ella cried, looking between her husband and father-in-law. "You mean he—"

"He's awake," Thomas nodded. "Yes. Graham, I believe you know Ashley Boyd – my wife, Ella?" he said.

"Of course," Graham paid her a brief, though genuine, nod. "Glad to 'ave you back, your Highness." Ella did not reply; rather her mouth hung open as Graham looked back to the king.

"What is it Graham? What news?" asked Christopher.

"Regina 'ad already been informed of the attack by the time I got to 'er," he said quietly. "There was a man with 'er when I arrived. A tall bloke with a cane. Real slick, carries an ol' pocketwatch."

"Mr. Gold?" Thomas guessed with clenched fists.

"No, this chap was young," said Graham. "Goes by the name of John W. Foulfellow. I don't _know _'im…not as 'Graham the sheriff' anyway. But I recognized 'im…from the past."

"From _our_ world?" asked Christopher as he handed a squirming Alexandra back to Ella.

"Not…exactly." Graham briefly explained the memories, the flashes he had upon his awakening, of a strange place in the woods – a place that seemed to belong to neither world – the boys' home where he had last seen the Zimmer kids.

"Those poor children," whispered Ella, clutching Alex a bit more protectively to her chest.

"You've spent a considerable amount o' time with Rodmilla Tremaine and the Queen, your Majesty," Graham continued. "Do you recall meeting this fellow? At a party perhaps?"

Christopher sighed, folding his arms and glancing up at the ceiling, trying to sift through years of city council meetings and high society banquets. But like his son, the only man he'd ever seen handling a cane in this town was Rumpelstiltskin. "No, I'm afraid neither the name nor the description is familiar to me. Do you think he was involved in last night's attempt?"

"I think 'e might be involved in _everything_," Graham replied, and the gravity with which he said it sent an icy shiver down Ella's spine.

"Well we have to find out who he is," she said, sliding off the edge of the bed with Alex still in her arms. "You and Emma can access the town records can't you?"

"I checked already," scoffed Graham, still fuming from his early morning visit to City Hall where he found records for both Dr. Fisk and John Foulfellow conspicuously missing from the Storybrooke census report.

"Wait a minute!" Thomas cried, suddenly remembering something crucial. "Was this fellow real skinny, kind of…slimy looking – dressed real old-fashioned, almost like…like he was from Wonderland?"

Graham's eyes widened. "_Yes_," he hissed, "that's him. Do you know 'im?"

"I saw him with Regina last week at Garcon's. Just after—" he paused and glanced at his wife, "just after 'Ashley' and I got engaged. And I think it was the nightbefore the Zimmers disappeared."

"Had you ever seen'im there before?"

Thomas huffed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to sift through the haziness of Sean's memory. "Once or twice I think – no, wait," he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the past to the forefront. "More than that." He opened his eyes. "Now that I think of it, he was hovering around Garcon's a lot the last few weeks. I remember Belle told me he started showing up in West End about the same time I did."

"West End," Graham sighed. "Then he was probably sent to watch _you_."

"Sheriff," Christopher stepped in. "Are you saying this man is _aware_ of the curse."

"_Aware_ of it?" Graham tried to keep from sounding too exasperated in front of the king. "I think he's likely pullin' _Regina's _strings."

"What?!" cried all three together.

"From what I saw last night," Graham explained hastily, "it's at least a safe bet that he's dangerous." He paused, an idea igniting a light bulb inside his head. "You said you saw 'im often down in West End?"

Thomas nodded.

Graham pressed his hands together, a grin slowly splitting across his face. He closed his eyes, and before him flashed the image of a very angry young man in a jail cell: _You think the mayor is gonna concern herself with the likes of me? Hell this isn't even something she'd sick on her cane-waving errand boy!_ "Of course," he whispered, more to himself than the party eagerly waiting to be let in on his mini-epiphany. "Shane."

Thomas instantly straightened up against his pillow. "Shane? What about him?"

"Who's Shane?" asked Ella.

"Guy who used to come into the bar a lot," said Thomas as an odd sense of déjà vu tickled his brain. "Few nights a week anyway. Used to run a poker game down by the docks till—"

"Your Highness, listen to me," said Graham, pulling up a nearby chair and straddled it backwards, right in front of the prince. "Do you remember the night of your assault at Garcon's?"

Thomas gulped, glancing between the sheriff, his wife and his father. Between having been awakened by Ella, reunited with his father, and then almost immediately put in peril again at the hands of Jafar, Thomas had barely given the initial night of his attack much thought, partially due to choice – who would _want _to remember a beating like that? But in truth, all he had of that night were fragments. "Not…not entirely," he said, embarrassed. "No." Ella's hand grasped his and he squeezed hard.

"Try your 'ighness," Graham pushed, regretting the command in his tone, but the information was crucial. "Emma spoke with the paramedics on the scene that night. They said you were barely conscious as they loaded you into the rig. That you were mumbling something over and over again… 'Find Shane'," he said slowly, barely above a whisper himself. "_Find Shane_, Prince Thomas. Do you remember that?"

Thomas creased his brow, staring past them as he tried again to go back to that night, the images still a fog, the memory still hazing through his mind. _Find Shane…_he thought…_Find Shane…_

Again, Ella squeezed his hand, giving him strength, and suddenly he remembered. "Yes!" he said, springing forward, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up his spine reminding him that he couldn't move like that now. "Yes I remember," he thrust his hand out midair, as if he could touch some apparition of that evening, visible only to him.

Graham took another deep breath. "Was Shane there that night?" he asked. "Is he the one who attacked you?"

The suggestion jarred Thomas back from his semi-illusory state. "What? Did _Shane _attack me? Of course not. Why would you think _that_?"

"Because he's sitting in our jail cell right now havin' confessed to it."

"What!?"

"He's confessed to the crime, Thomas," Graham repeated himself, ignoring the utterly confused glances he was getting from the king and princess. "Walked right into the station and copped to the entire thing."

"Why the hell—"

"We think they've got something on him. He alluded to an entire network of villains working in tandem. Or at least, that's what he was leading up to before he shut down and said he was done talking. Most likely, they've threatened his ex-wife or his father-in-law."

"Goddess, no," Ella gasped, shaking her head at the dreaded thought of it.

"He's taken all the blame for your attack Thomas," Graham continued. "And only your sworn statement will absolve him of it."

"Then for Gods' sake, _absolve_ him already!" Thomas returned, punching his fist into his mattress. "Shane didn't assault me, Graham. Shane _saved _me."

The huntsman couldn't repress the grin that split his face as he pushed back from the bed and returned his chair to the corner. They were hardly out of the woods yet, but this was a small victory…a victory for Emma. He couldn't wait to tell her she was right. "Thank you, your Highness," he turned and nodded to the others. "Excuse me Princess. Your Majesty… There's someone I need to see."

…

Tobias Stone wasn't one for superstitions. His medically-minded psyche never allowed for feelings of déjà vu or sentiment to cloud his judgment. For this reason, the past few days he'd spent treating Rose French's father and getting to know SG's former volunteer, Mary Margaret, left him a little wary in the hallways of strange visitors. Though he'd grown quite fond of both women in a short amount of time, a part of him was quite unsettled with the strange impressions they'd left upon him.

So when Tobias arrived early in the morning to begin his rotation and was stunned to see there was a new patient on his boards – none other than Doctor Damian Fisk – Dr. Stone immediately dismissed the crazy notion that there was some sort of correlation, that there was _any _connection between the bewitching Mary Margaret and rumors of an escaped mental patient attacking his caregiver.

"Apparently we missed all the fun," said Nurse Charles as she accompanied him on his rounds.

"Certainly seems that way," mused the doctor, though his head involuntarily darted up or down or over at every person they passed who seemed even remotely out of place as they headed for the intensive care unit.

"Happened in Sean Herman's room," Dawn went on, "the fight was apparently so violent, it woke him up!"

"Yes," nodded Stone. "I heard that too."

They arrived at Fisk's beside rather quickly and Stone examined the chart, knowing full well that blunt-force trauma wasn't exactly his area of expertise but, well, they were a bit short on doctors today. "Keep me posted on his vitals throughout the day," he said. The nurse nodded and the two parted ways once rounds were completed. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my office," said Stone to the woman manning the nurse's station, a sudden headache coming over him. There was something screwy going on in this hospital. Something messing with his sense of order. And he didn't like it…not one bit. Unlocking the door to his office, the good doctor stepped inside, praying that today would be a quiet day so he could wrap his head around what exactly was bugging him. No sooner had he stepped inside, however, than what felt like three pairs of hands shot out of the darkness and grabbed him.

That was the last thing 'Dr. Tobias Stone' ever recalled.

…

Emma didn't even bother going to the school first to check in with James or Snow. She supposed they were there waiting for her, waiting for her to arrive and confirm that her son was _missing. _Waiting to formulate a new plan. Emma was _sick _of waiting. Waiting for them to be "ready." Waiting for more people to wake up. _Waiting _to get her son away from a mad woman she'd distrusted from the very beginning. Waiting…and for what? A few choice fairy tale characters hiding out in some underground cottage?

Reason could not contain the fury that drove her to Regina's office that morning, could not control the maternal wrath with which she marched up the steps of the court house. A small part of her dearly hoped that the office door would be shut just for the momentary release she knew would come from kicking it down. But as she entered the sterile, white marble vestibule of Storybrooke's City Hall, she was disappointed to find the queen already on her way out.

"Tending to some _more _early morning business Regina?" Emma called up to her as the mayor descended the rotunda's spiral staircase. Regina pointedly ignored her. "Where is he?" Emma seethed as the met at the base of the stairs.

"Ex_cuse _me, Deputy," Regina said icily as she brushed past her.

Emma's arm shot out almost on its own and seized the mayor by the wrist. "Where _is _he?"

Regina looked down at Emma's hand on her arm and then slowly met her eye. "Where's who?" she said.

"Don't _even _start with me! Where's my _son_?"

"_My _son you mean?" Regina yanked her wrist back.

"Regina—"

"Or has it possibly slipped your mind that you _legally_ declared to the world that you wanted nothing to _do_ with the boy? And that your presence in this town is merely _tolerated, _not welcome?"

Reminding Emma of how carelessly she'd given up Henry 10 years ago did nothing except amplify the rage coursing through her, but she maintained at least a semblance of sanity as her grip closed once again around the witch, this time clamping down on her upper arm. "Where. Is. Henry." Emma hissed.

"If you _must _know," coughed Regina, failing to wriggle from her grasp this time, "Henry and I had a long talk about his education last night. He doesn't feel he's being challenged enough at Storybrooke Elementary so we transferred him to a boarding school in upstate Maine—"

"Bullshit!" spat Emma in her face.

Regina narrowed her already icy stare. "I don't think I like your tone, Miss Swan."

"I don't think I _give _a shit, Miss Mills. You really expect me to believe that the kid who _hates _you, who stole a credit card from his teacher and traveled across state lines _alone _to find _me, _up and left with you in the middle of the night for boarding school?"

The veins in Regina's neck bulged at Emma's reminder of _her _own failures with Henry, and she barely found the words to respond. "I-I h-hardly expect _you _to understand the kinds of decisions one has to make as a _responsible _parent—"

But Regina didn't have a prayer of finishing that sentence, for Emma's gloved fingers closed around her neck as she shoved the evil queen back against the wall. "Don't fuck with me, you miserable bitch!" she seethed, her voice so crazed, she barely recognized it as her own. "You really think you're still foolin' anyone with this act of yours? Save it for your minions out there, Regina. I _know _who you _are_!"

Regina glared down her nemesis, oddly unfazed by the iron grip Emma had around her throat. Her eyes were locked with hers in a death-like stare that, were she at full power, would have set the deputy's blonde hair ablaze. "Is. That. So," said Regina, slowly bringing her hand up to grasp Emma's wrist and pry it from her neck. "Well well well," she said carefully, as the two straightened a few feet apart from each other. "The lost princess emerges at last."

Emma gulped. She hadn't counted on that, though she supposed she wasn't too surprised. Regina couldn't be _that _thick. It was only a matter of time before the queen figured out her true parentage.

Regina herself considered the moment a private victory. Up until about ten seconds ago, she wasn't 100% certain of her theory. 'Stiltskin never did give her a straight answer after all, and it was possible that the deputy's reason for being here was entirely due to her being Henry's birth mother – nothing more. But Emma's face, lacking confusion or even a hint of denial, confirmed it once and for all. Emma Swan…was the daughter of Snow White. "So what shall I call you, my dear?" Regina crooned, slipping quite easily into the far more comfortable role of queen now that there was no more need to keep up the façade of mayor. "Princ_ess_ Charming?"

"Just Emma, thanks" she replied through gritted teeth, as the queen began a cat-like circle around her in the City Hall rotunda.

"Very well," she said, her black heels clacking against the marble tile as she continued her rhythmic loop of the deputy. "So Miss Swan, you have it all figured out, do you? You think you know what's going on here?"

"I think I know a lot more than you _want _anyone to know." Emma began to mimick the queen's huntress-like revolution around the vestibule and soon they were equally paced.

"You think I give a damn what people know about me?"

"If not, you've gone to an awful lot of trouble for nothing, your _Majesty_– poisoned apples? Stolen hearts? Turning people into your slaves? And for _what _Regina?" Emma found her voice again, advancing now into the center. "Is _this_ yourhappy ending?" She stretched her arms out and took one step back, letting her voice echo in the hollowness of the empty hall. "Mayor of a town whose citizens despise you? Mother of a boy who figured out you were _evil _even _before_ he knew you were the queen?"

Regina clenched her fists but didn't reply.

"You know from the moment I met you, you've _always _seemed miserable," Emma continued, moving back toward her, "And _now _you've dragged _my _son into it. And I'll be damned if I let you—"

"Don't assume for a second that just because you think you know something, the tides have magically turned here, deputy." Regina placed her hands at her waist, turning her nose in the air. "Or have you forgotten that I _own _this town? That I'm still the only one with power?"

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, resting her weight over her right hip. "I think not," she said, her eyes gleaming. "In fact, I think your power is diminishing by the minute."

"Do you now?" Regina's lips suddenly curled into a disturbing smile, as if Emma had just fed her the line she was looking for. "Well, if that's true, then…do something about it." The deputy flinched, and the queen grinned even broader.

"Don't tempt me," she seethed.

"Tempt you to what? Come on, Emma, here's your chance," Regina held her hands out at her sides, palms up. "Take your revenge. After all, _I'm _the reason you grew up without parents. I _took_ yourson from you. Go ahead," she leaned in, sneering, "give it your best shot."

Emma was rooted to the ground, her hand hovering near the holster on her belt where lay the pistol Graham had assigned to her. The queen's words were gnawing at her soul, hitting her exactly where Regina knew it would hurt most. But try as she might, she could not bring herself to move.

"I thought not," Regina said with a mirthless chuckle, as she finally retreated from the woman (who now bore such a striking resemblance to Snow, she wondered how she could have ever missed it). "No. You see, if you truly know _who _I am, then you also know I'm the _only _one who knows where Henry is," she said as casually as if she were conversing about town meetings or parent-teacher conferences. "And since you are your father'sdaughter," she added with extra bite, slinging her purse over her shoulder and heading for the door, "I'm betting you're not willing to take the risk that you might never see your son again." She opened the door, and the cold December wind rushed in with an iciness that mimicked their confrontation. "So you can stand there, all high and mighty like your mother if you want to, but make no mistake, _princess_. I'm the one with the power. So I'd just watch my back if I were you." And with extra flourish, feeling more herself than she had in weeks, Regina wrenched the door fully open and headed out into the cold.

The frigid air seared past Emma's cheeks as she watched her enemy slipping through her fingers. _No, _she thought, as the strange petrification that had befallen her subsided. _No, she won't get away with this. Not again._ And just as the heavy door fell closed, Emma pulled it open again and rushed after her, stepping out on the concrete walkway leading up from the street. Regina was already halfway down the sidewalk on the next block, though her pompous pace seemed to suggest she wasn't at all rushed to leave the scene. _Her mistake_, Emma thought as her blood turned to ice water and she walked out into the street. Regina was clear in her sights, and there wasn't a soul around to stop her. There probably wasn't a soul around who would care.

_She's bluffing_, she thought with frightening certainty as she slowly peeled one leather glove from her hand. _There are other ways of finding Henry. Other allies of hers that will know where he was taken. _ Her bare fingers closed around the black grip of her pistol. _Plenty of leads. I'm a bailbondsman for God's sake. I'll find him without her._ As if in slow motion, she lifted the gun from its holster, Regina's oblivious form still in plain view. _And she'll never hurt anyone again…_ Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered someone calling her name, someone far away, but she was too focused to care. _She'll never…hurt anyone…again…_Faces flashed in her mind: Snow's tear-stained cheeks as she forced herself to say goodbye to baby Emma. James as he took one last look at his wife before leaving to face certain death. Henry – her son. Begging her to come back to Storybrooke and save them all. Save them from the queen.

A single tear formed in her eye and she raised the gun and took aim. Again, someone _screamed_ her name, drawing near to her even, but she was too close. Too close now to turn back. Regina had to be stopped. She had to pay. For everything she took – for everyone she'd cursed. Emma held her breath, steeled herself against the little voice in her head, Henry's voice, warning her of the hole this would surely leave in her heart. But she didn't care. She _wasn't_ Snow – her mother who was too good to surrender to darkness. Emma _wasn't_ her mother. She would succeed where Snow once failed. She would do what was necessary. And this…she'd convinced herself…this was necessary. With terrifying calm, Emma narrowed her gaze and squeezed the trigger.

…

Matt Clancy wasn't typically one for jogging in the morning, but for some reason today, despite the biting cold, he was feeling especially restless. There was no reason yesterday should have felt different than any other monotonous day in Storybrooke. No reason the tree lighting shouldn't have felt like every other yuletide festival he'd ever attended. But all night and well into the morning, Matt had a very strange and distinct sense that something significant had changed. His date had ended, well, like most all of his dates – with breakfast. But he took no satisfaction from having successfully wooed an Andersan sister (particularly since it wasn't even Marina). He felt no urge to call Trent and brag, or to go back out "on the hunt," so to speak, tonight. The ceremony itself had been about as fun as lame Christmas brouhahas ever were, but he'd spent a ridiculous amount of time searching for that new deputy, despite that fact that at one point he'd actually had two beautiful women already on his arm.

Emma Swan, he decided as he pumped his fists back and forth and pushed through the cold air, jogging along the path that led from his apartment to the town square. Emma Swan was what had changed. To Matt's recollection, he had never _ever _been so preoccupied by a woman before, but there was something about her visit to the station yesterday, something about her presence, their connection, that had lingered far longer than he was comfortable with.

"Clancy?" he heard someone shouting his name. "Hey Clancy!" Matt turned to see his partner driving slowly along the same route, rolling down the window of his old beat up Chevy. Matt chuckled and angled his run toward the street, clouds of breath puffing thickly from his mouth as he approached the passenger door and leaned in the window.

"Davis? What're you doing out so early? Shift's not until this afternoon."

"Me? I'm not the idiot jogging when it's 30 degrees out," replied Trent, sweeping his hand over his short, buzzed hair. "You headed somewhere? Can I drop you?"

Matt sighed, glancing down the lane, the smell of snow in the air. It _was _incredibly cold today; still, something told him to stay put. "Nah, thanks though. Where are _you _headed?"

Trent nodded down the road. "Putting in some hours at the hospital before our shift."

Matt paused…then cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Oh _really_?"

Trent shot him a pointed look. "Yes _really_," he mimicked, "You know I need at least 80 hours to complete my degree."

Matt drew back from the car and crossed his arms. "I see. And exactly how many hours do you have already?"

Trent scoffed and shook his head, but then looked down sheepishly. He couldn't exactly lie. "82."

"Uh huh," Matt tapped his foot, chuckling again. "Sounds more like hours you intend to spend drooling over Nurse Charles, man. Not working on your M.D."

Trent rolled his eyes. "Does _everything _have to be about women with you?"

Matt thought for a moment. "Yes."

Trent slammed his car back into drive, still holding down the break. "As usual, I wish I'd never asked. You enjoy freezin' your nuts off there Clancy."

But Matt braced his hands in the open passenger window and leaned down. "When are you just gonna come out and admit it, Davis?"

"Admit what?"

"You're crazy about her. Always have been."

"Will you get off my car please?"

"You know I saw her at the festival last night," he teased, "She wasn't with anyone."

"Fascinating," Trent replied dryly, regretting more and more having confessed his destination. Especially since Matt was…well, right on the money. "I'd like to _drive _now, if you don't mind?"

Matt pushed back off the door. "Suit yourself."

Trent sped away, and Matt resumed his jog, much more amused with himself now for having already filled his daily quota of Trent-abuse. He loved the rookie – really. Would already trust him with his life. But Trent didn't know shit about women, which was unfortunate because Matt really thought that if old Crew-Cut ever actually made a move, Dawn Charles would probably welcome it. They'd spent years making eyes at each other, as far back as when Trent had been just a paramedic, still training at the firehouse. But for some reason his partner always felt he wasn't good enough. That it somehow wasn't his place.

_Poor guy, _he thought, wondering (not for the first time) if maybe it was finally time for a little Clancy-intervention. He'd offered time and again to be Trent's wing man, but the guy just wouldn't bite. _Maybe I'll head to the hospital and do a little match-making on my own_, he thought to himself, but the abrupt clang of a steel door being flung open arrested his attention, and he snapped his gaze toward City Hall.

Mayor Mills was trouncing down the concrete steps, covered in a sleek black trench coat far more befitting for late spring than early winter. The cold didn't seem to bother the ice queen though, Clancy noticed with a slight shiver as he watched from across the street. Her 'Royal Cattiness' (as the guys at the station were fond of calling her) seemed every bit as haughty and impressed with herself as always. Matt was about to turn around when he saw the door fly open a few moments later…and Emma Swan rushed outside.

Matt gulped – there she was: the blonde deputy who had so preoccupied his mind for the past 24 hours – Emma Swan, suddenly emerging from Regina's building, not 100 feet from this atypical morning jog of his. And yet the expression on her face did not remind him of the sharp, witty young woman he'd taken her for yesterday. Spotting the unmistakable visage of a woman filled with hate, driven by revenge, he watched in a sort of slow-motion stupor as the deputy made a bee-line for the mayor. Matt could do little more than gape at the surreal scene unfold before him. He might have stayed that way too, ready to watch whatever cat fight he thought was sure to ensue…until Emma's hand dropped to her hip, and she withdrew her gun.

"Emma?" Matt called, finding his voice. Immediately, he broke into a sprint, praying he'd reach her before it was too late. "Emma!" he screamed again, but the deputy seemed not to hear him. _Oh Christ! _he thought as she held the grip firmly and took aim. "EMMA NO!" he cried and, fueled solely by adrenaline, launched toward her, grasped hold of her wrist, and knocked the gun from her grip just before the shot fired.

Matt stared down the lane to where the mayor now turned the corner, seemingly oblivious and luckily unharmed. "Emma," he rasped, catching his breath. "What the – what the _hell_?" He looked up into her eyes which remained eerily fixed on her retreating target. "Emma!" he cried again, grasping her by the shoulders, shaking her violently. He wrenched his gaze back and forth between Regina and the deputy, thinking maybe once the mayor fully turned the corner, Emma would snap out of this petrified trance. But even as Regina disappeared from sight, Emma would not budge. Instead she stood completely erect, her hand still partially raised at her side. She didn't even seem to notice that her gun no longer resided there.

Clancy's heart was racing as he glanced around, checking to see if there were any heads peeking out of windows or passerbys staring and pointing at them. Thankfully, the entire scene seemed to have gone undetected, but Matt knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. He'd take her to the station. Night shift was getting off soon, and it was only a few blocks away – but how to _move_ her, he wondered. Surely the sight of an off-duty paramedic carrying the new deputy in a fireman's hold would attract the exact kind of attention he wanted to avoid. He steadied her before him, peered into stone-cold eyes that, though they were leveled with his, did not gaze back. "Emma," he tried again, his voice a bit gentler. Boldly, he lifted his grip from her arms. "Deputy, snap out of it!" he rasped and cupped her face with his bare hands.

All at once, the world swirled before Emma and she gasped for air as if emerging from a watery abyss. A nauseatingly familiar vortex yanked her from Storybrooke and plunged her back through time. _What now?_ she wondered, her mind finally regaining awareness as she felt Clancy's cold hands on her skin. Bracing herself for what her scattered mind now thought of as her "landing", she expected to be plunged into some memory of her parents' as she had before – some scene from their past that perhaps involved Matt – or rather Philip. Instead, she was thrust into what seemed to be a dark, underground tomb, pitch black save for the four flickering candles that burned atop four wooden bedposts.

"Ph-philip?" she heard, squeaking from the blackness. Emma struggled to adjust to the light and focus on the scene before her.

"Yes," came a hesitant response. "It's me."

Two silhouetted figures came into view, and Emma gasped as she beheld a familiar scene before her – one she was acquainted with not through Storybrooke itself, but through the famous annals of fairy tale history: Sleeping Beauty lying on her bed, her prince at her side.

"Where…how did you…what—" stuttered the princess, groggy and disoriented from who knows how many hours or days (or years?) of sleep.

"Shh," said Matt – er, _Philip_, as he slipped a supportive arm beneath the princess's back and helped her sit up. "Relax, Aurora. It's over. You're safe."

Emma watched as Aurora squinted and rubbed out her eyes, then looked frantically around the dark room. "Wh-what happened?"

"Maleficent," Philip explained, looking down at his hands. "She cast a sleeping curse on you and tried to take over the kingdom—"

"No, I _know _that but—" she paused, staring back at Philip's eyes. Emma couldn't be sure, but what she found there was a great deal of uncertainty…even, fear. "You," she reached out to him, tentatively cupping his cheek, though not with the tenderness Emma might have expected from Sleeping Beauty. "Youwoke me?"

Philip cleared his throat. "Y-yes?" he said, not dropping his gaze.

Aurora's brow creased in confusion, but she didn't look away. "With…true love's kiss?"

Philip's lips curled into a gentle smile as a small laugh escaped him. "Yeah," he chuckled and shrugged. "Who knew?"

Aurora shook her head, letting her palm drift down his cheek and rest on his arm which still supported her at the waist. "I…I don't…" she muttered, then looked up again, searching her chamber once more. "Where's—"

"Aurora," Philip said softly, removing the blanket that covered her and helping her ease out of the bed and swing her legs over its side. "Come, we should let your father and mother know that you're safe."

"Yes, but—"

"And we have a wedding to finish," he added with a light smirk, taking both her hands in his and squeezing.

The princess stared at him for a long time, searching him wonderingly, curiously, still struggling to gain her bearings. But Philip's patient gaze remained and at last, she seemed to come to some sort of internal decision. Taking his hands now more firmly in hers, she leaned forward and brushed her lips softly against her own. "We do, indeed," she whispered. And with that, Emma was lifted from the chamber and thrust back into Storybrooke.

"Ah!" she cried and at last wrenched herself from Philip's grasp. "Philip, what the hell—"

"Philip?!" said Matt, now thoroughly confused. Is it possible he was drawn to this woman because she was _insane_? He shuddered to think this a possibility. Matt Clancy didn't _do _crazy. "Emma, what's gotten into you? It's me, Clancy."

Emma shook her head, darting her gaze from street lamp to fire hydrant, feeling a bit like she imagined Aurora had just now, disoriented and catching her breath. "C-clancy," she mumbled, pieces of the puzzle finally falling back into place. "Right, sorry."

"Jesus, Swan, what the hell was that about?"

"Huh?" she gripped the side of her head.

"With Regina?" he said.

"Regina?"

"Yeah Regina! You know, the woman you just tried to _shoot_?"

Clarity finally returned to the young deputy and she started to search her surroundings again, this time looking for her gun. "Right, Regina. Hey!" she turned on him, suddenly venomous. "Why did you do that?" She placed her gloved hands on his chest and shoved him aside.

"Excuse me?!"

"The gun! You knocked it out of my hand," she muttered, going over to the frozen lawn to retrieve it. "Why did you do that?"

"Are you fuckin' _kidding _me, Swan?" he spat back, following her down the sidewalk. "You almost put a _bullet _through the mayor's head!"

"No I didn't," she grumbled, checking the chamber and then re-holstering the gun.

"_You didn't?" _he yelled.

"I was just trying to…to scare her that's all," she lied, cursing the need now for a plausible excuse.

"Right," said the fireman, not at all buying it.

"Look, this is none of your business, all right?" she started to move past him, but he grabbed hold of her elbow and stopped her.

"Like hell it isn't," he said, forcing her to face him. "Look, I don't know what your deal is, but it's kind of my _job_ to prevent people from _killing _each other in this town?" he gave her another shake, hoping to jar some sense of reason in her. "Don't think for a second I'm gonna just leave you to go after her again—"

"Get _out _of my way!" she yelled and tore away from him, stumbling vaguely along the path until she came to a small patch of ice pooling around a sewer drain. In the sudden and deadening calm of winter, she came face to face with her reflection in that ice…and saw a face she barely recognized. Suddenly the magnitude of what she'd just attempted overwhelmed her and the weight of too many burdens bore down: Regina, Henry, Snow, James, the strange visions she kept having, each more confusing than the last. And now having exposed her knowledge of the curse to the queen, and Matt Clancy having witnessed everything…how much worse could this day get?

"Emma," Matt came up behind her. He too seemed to sense the weight of the world come crashing down on her, and tentatively he reached out and touched her shoulder. "What _happened_?"

Emma turned a tired look on the firefighter. "My son," she said with a vulnerability in her voice she detested but could not help. "She took my son."

…

Tom Clark had owned the drug store at the corner of Diamond Lane for years, and never, in as far back as he could remember, had the air seemed so chill, so full of mystery and danger as he sensed today in his shop. It wasn't anything concrete that he could put his finger on. It was just…a feeling, a strange sort of omniscience that had haunted him for days now, ever since the young Mills boy had been caught shop-lifting here with his two orphan friends and they'd ended up shipped off to Boston not even a full day later.

For a while, Tom had been trying to figure out what bothered him so about the whole ordeal, and last night's tree lighting hadn't at all soothed the impression that something was definitely amiss in Storybrooke. That same boy, Henry Mills? Why, he'd spent almost the entire evening clutched to his mom's side at the Emporium, looking quite terrified! Of what, Tom had no idea, but there was an unpleasant aura that surrounded both of them, separating them from the rest of the crowd even as the mayor addressed them all during the award presentation.

The jingle of the front door bell knocked him out of his ominous musings and Clark turned his attentions toward the short stout fellow who had just walked in. Samuel Bash, Storybrooke's friendliest mailman, had arrived with the day's deliveries. "How goes it Tom? Did you go to the tree lighting last night? Weren't the fireworks spectacular? Oh, and that cute little number the Andersans did?" asked Sam as he walked briskly up to the counter.

Tom rolled his eyes. Honestly, didn't the guy know that such outgoing blustering didn't really befit a mailman? Why there wasn't a single job more suited to solitude and quiet than delivering the Storybrooke mail and yet, Sam felt the need to turn the occasion into a full-blown conversation nearly every day. "Yes Sam, quite entertaining," Tom nodded, taking a letter opener from the register drawer and setting immediately upon the bills.

"I tell ya, I have never heard a lovlier voice than that Marina Andersan, you know?"

"Quite right," Tom replied mechanically, not looking up from the mail.

"You know it ain't polite to ignore your brother like that," came a different voice. Tom's head jerked up at the intrusion, and he barely had time to utter a meek 'hey-what-the' before spotting a rather bewildered looking Samuel being stuffed into an oversized potato sack. Seconds later, darkness consumed him as well and all the lights went out.

…

_Aladdin dodged what might have been a fatal blow from the otherwise blunted training sticks with which he'd equipped his pupil. The Princess of Agrabah was every bit the quick study she'd promised she'd be, and it was with grace and swiftness that she swept across the makeshift combat floor, nearly besting him in this latest round of sparring. The longer she fought without success, however, the more impatient she became, and though her skill was far beyond what he might have expected by this point, she had not yet learned to control her own frustrations._

_For almost two months, the two had kept to a rather rigid and consistent routine: archery and swordsmanship on Mondays, staffs and rattan sticks mid-week, and by week's end, hand-to-hand combat. Aladdin was surprised, to say the least, how quickly she'd mastered the bow and arrow, though less startled by the way the "Ice-Princess" wielded a sword. However, victory with the less traditional forms of combat remained elusive for her, and it was with too much impatience that she took another swing at his shin, trying to drop him after what had to have been almost an hour straight of sparring. He dodged her once again, and she flew into a rage, lunging toward him and abandoning the sticks altogether. Aladdin sighed, seeing that her clumsy, hastened approach left her vulnerable to an easy counter. In a flash, he'd sidestepped her, hooked his leg around her ankle, tripped her backwards and pinned her to the floor. _

"_Once _again_, princess," he growled at her, "What's rule number one?"_

_Jasmine shifted and torqued in his grasp as she fought his hold on her. "Never run from a fight you know you can win," she grunted, though there was a teasing grin in her face. _

"_Wrong," he spat. "That's rule number _three_. What's rule number _one_?"_

_Jasmine rolled her eyes, panting heavily as her tutor's weight pressed her to the worn mat. She had hoped to throw him by mixing up his silly rules. "Never…" she wheezed, "attack in anger."_

"_And yet you keep _doing _it!" he laughed, tightening his grip on her wrists as he drew over her, unable to keep his pulse from racing as his eyes bored down into hers. "It's been months, Princess," he said, "when are you going to learn?"_

_Jasmine let out another grunt as she stared over his shoulder at the ceiling of the old dome. They were in one of the palace's oldest and remotest towers, secluded from the hustle and bustle of life at court below. Old tumbling mats from a generations-old festival of lights were stored here, and a wooden railing circled the room about eight feet from the wall which created a sort of miniature arena that Jasmine decided (and Aladdin concurred) was ideal for the type of training she had requested. On one side of the rotunda hung an assortment of weapons on steel pegs slapped into the marble: a few swords, two bows, several quivers of arrows and some of the more curious types of weaponry that Aladdin had become acquainted with on his travels. On the other side of the tower, closer to the entrance was a small table with a wash basin and some haphazardly arranged towels._

_Several floors beneath them, however, was a scene of a much more elaborate nature: Rushdi's best cooks and bakers were anxiously preparing for tomorrow's feast. Her father had invited yet another suitor to court, and he would be arriving tomorrow afternoon with a large party of ladies and gentlemen. Jasmine was, of course, dreading this latest visit not only because she knew her father's efforts were a complete waste of time, but that Prince Achmed's stay would further delay her training. She couldn't very well adhere to as strict a schedule as they had maintained if she was expected to entertain the prissy prince for an entire fortnight._

_She curled her hands into tight fists, straining against his grip, but try as she might, she couldn't overcome Aladdin's strength. "Perhaps I'll learn once _you_ stop holding back!" she grunted, still trying to squirm out from beneath him. "I could drop you at any time, but where's the fun in rushing a victory you make so easy to attain?"_

_Aladdin smirked, "Ah, so that's it? _I'm _going easy on you? That's why _you're _the one pinned to the floor?"_

_The princess grunted a third time, but Aladdin didn't miss the sparkle in her eye as she replied, "All part of the plan, Professor. I just needed a little rest!" Swiftly, she worked her leg out from under his calf, kneed the inside of his thigh, and used the few seconds of complete shock in his face to flip him over and pin him back, wrapping her fingers around his forearm and bracing him against the floor. "See?" she said coyly, folding her legs in over his, cutting off circulation (as he had taught her), which made it harder for him to counter with strength. _

_Aladdin was too stunned to feel much pain in his leg where she'd struck him. He stared up at her, breathing heavily as she mimicked his own movements from earlier, drawing over him, leveling her gaze with his. She was pleased with herself; that was certain. Her eyes were smiling, though her lips were not. And there was something else there…something more. Something they'd both been ignoring for weeks now._

"_Impressive," he granted her, and then she _couldn't _suppress her grin. "Truly, I have no idea how I'll ever—" but he cut himself off and swiped her arms out from under her, causing her to collapse across his chest with nothing left to support her weight. He wrapped his arms around her and trapped hers at her side, rolling over so he was once again on top. "Oh!" he feigned confusion. "Would you look at that? Trapped again!" _

"_Grrrrmgah!" Jasmine let out an impatient growl, twisting in his grasp, but he'd definitely won the volley – in fact, he'd won both the round itself and their verbal duel (arguably the more enjoyable of the two) and she knew she would have to concede. "All right, Professor, let me up," she rolled her eyes with an acquiescent laugh._

_But Aladdin didn't budge. He hated this part. This moment right before the spell was broken. Right before the magic disappeared in the space of a few heartbeats that he got to hold her in his arms. _

_Jasmine's heart suddenly pounded so loudly she thought it might beat right out of her chest. Why did he have to _look _at her like that? "Aladdin," she said with another nervous chuckle. "Come on, it's getting harder to breathe."_

_But again, Aladdin couldn't bring himself to move. If he moved, that meant they were finished for the day. If he moved, that meant she would soon be headed downstairs to help her father prepare for Achmed's arrival– Prince Achmed. He loathed the man already, and he'd never even met him. There wasn't a chance in hell that Jasmine would succumb to this latest sham of a courtship – of this Aladdin had no doubts. But the undeserving prince would still be allowed to offer her his arm, share a meal with her, take her out on horseback…lead her in a dance. And the simple knowledge of it filled Aladdin's heart with such envy as could barely be borne. "Jasmine," he whispered before he could stop himself, his head so close to hers he could almost feel her soft lips touch his own before—_

_Abruptly the spell was broken, and Jasmine wrenched herself away from him. "That's all for today," she said, hastening over to the railing where hung the towels over the water basin. "We'll resume our lessons at the usual hour tomorrow." Her voice was tight and controlled though her heart beat wildly. _Damn him, _a voice screamed inside her head, though what she truly desired was far from his damnation. She _hated _what he did to her. _Hated _the feeling that she wasn't in control – that any moment impulse and passion would conquer reason and she would undo everything she'd been striving toward. _

_Aladdin cursed under his breath, pushing himself up off the floor. _Damn her, _he thought as he strove to master the urges coursing through his veins. How much longer was he to endure this glorious hell? "Isn't um," he cleared his throat and watched as she bent gracefully at the waist, cupping her hand into the basin and splashing a palm-full of cooling water on her bronze neck. _Too much _he thought as she drew the crisp white towel over her glowing skin. He turned away. "Isn't Prince Achmed arriving tomorrow?"_

"_Not until late afternoon," she replied without turning around. "We'll have enough time for a lesson before he arrives." Delicately, she refolded the towel and replaced it on the railing. _

_Aladdin took a deep breath, at last gaining control of himself as he bent down to retrieve the training sticks. "All right. Tomorrow morning then."_

_Jasmine wrung her hands together, and, with a heavy sigh, she finally turned around. "Actually," she called after him, gulping down a lump in her throat, "tomorrow evening too."_

_He paused just under the tasseled awning draped across the archway; his bag, full of various combat items, was slung over his shoulder along with his own sweaty towel. "What?"_

_Jasmine took another deep breath as they both started walking back toward the center of their makeshift arena. "My…father," she started, steadily, "has asked me to extend you an invitation to attend tomorrow night's welcome feast."_

_Aladdin's jaw slackened on approach, and as the two met in the middle of the padded floor, Jasmine had to stifle a laugh (despite her own embarrassment) at his flummoxed expression. "Me?" he choked, bringing his free hand to his chest. Jasmine nodded. "Why?" he asked, almost exasperated._

"_It's…tradition," she explained, though her tone was equivocating. "When a nobleman of Achmed's stature comes to court, it's…customary for the king's most trusted advisors and tutors in his uppermost circles to round out the party's official welcome."_

_Picking up on her evasive tone, Aladdin turned a slightly sardonic look on her, tilting his head and waiting for her to continue…for he was _sure _there was more._

_Jasmine looked down, having honestly hoped she might spare him this embarrassing admission, but she also knew he was far too intuitive to believe her first explanation. "And," she sighed at last, "it doesn't hurt that you're living proof of my father's…merciful and…benevolent rule."_

"_Ah, there it is," Aladdin shook his head. The old street rat, no longer a bit surprised, tucked his set of sticks inside his bag and readjusted the strap near his neck. "In other words, I'm to be paraded in front of Prince Fancy-Pants as an example of your father's successful crime reform." _

_The princess's stare remained fixed on her hands, folded and fidgeting at her waist. "If you…choose to put it that way, I won't argue with you."_

_Aladdin blew out a sigh, settling his weight over one hip. "Uh huh," he said, crossing his arms. "And…what happens, your Highness, when this lofty party requests a…_demonstration_ of your two months' tutelage?"_

_Jasmine glanced back up. "That…won't happen," she chuckled nervously._

_He cocked an eyebrow. "Your father thinks I'm tutoring you on the _flute, _princess. Frankly, I'm surprised he hasn't asked for a concert already."_

_She stared at him, dumbfounded. The thought had never even occurred to her! In arguing with her father that very morning on the matter, she'd simply objected to the idea of turning Aladdin into her father's visual aid. He'd…done enough for her already. "If that happens, I'll…plead a case of stage fright. I assure you, we won't be asked to…demonstrate anything."_

_But Aladdin gave a little snort and rolled his eyes. "If Rushdi knows you even half as well as I do, he knows you…don't _do _fright. Stage or otherwise."_

_Her cheeks grew warm at the compliment, but she chose not to comment "Still," she cleared her throat. "I'll make sure he…doesn't ask." She started to move past him. "Suitable attire will be sent to your chamber this evening. Just tell me tomorrow if something doesn't fit—"_

"_Jasmine," he said in a lower, gentler voice and clasped her wrist as she passed by. She froze mid-step as he regarded her thoughtfully, and an exaggerated silence settled between them as he took a step closer. "Do _you _want me there?"_

_Praying that he couldn't feel how much her heart pounded from her chest, Jasmine hastily replied. "What _I _want doesn't matter. The Sultan requires your presence. The request is merely a formality. You—"_

_But he gave a slight tug on her arm and forced her to face him, gazing down at her with those big brown eyes that so often set her off balance even in the midst of their toughest training. "Do you…_want _me there?" he asked again, letting his fingers trail down from her wrist and slip naturally into her hand, lacing his fingers together with hers before she had a chance to object. Aladdin knew he was playing with fire again. In fact, she usually pulled away long before this point, and his heart soared as she not only _didn't _pull away, but actually – instinctively – squeezed back. _

"_Yes," she whispered, not looking up. Though her father's motives were embarrassingly political, she couldn't deny the small comfort she knew it would be to have a…friend there._

_Aladdin smiled down at her. "As you wish, Princess," he said softly, finally letting his hand drop. "It's a date."_

"_Good," replied Jasmine, in a voice, suddenly foreign to Aladdin's ears. "Now, rise and shine would you?"_

_Aladdin drew back. "Wh-what?"_

"_Oy, lad," she replied, though she was moving further away from him. "Come on, time to go."_

"_Huh?!" he cried._

"_Shane!" she shouted once more, _"Get up!"

Shane Pilfer jolted awake, feeling the heel of someone's shoe shove him hard at his back. "What the f—" he grumbled against his flattened pillow. He twisted his body around, and Sheriff Graham came into his upside-down view from the bed.

"G'morning, sunshine," said the sheriff in that droll Irish brogue of his.

"Graham," Shane coughed, coming fully awake as he righted himself on his slab, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. It was the second time in less than a day that he'd dreamed up something so lucid it felt more like a memory. But whereas the first one was mildly entertaining – he, sporting a bow and arrow, saving princes and dukes from harm – this one hit a little closer to home. Too much of it – well, too much of _her, _the princess – reminded him of Jade. And though he couldn't fathom where or how his mind had cooked up this elaborate, Arabian world, the beauty of the woman's emerald gaze was Jade Amira's, plain and simple. He couldn't bear to face that gaze again. Not after everything that had happened. So he resolved to forget this dream. As soon as possible.

Still disoriented, Shane didn't immediately realize that his cell door was wide open, and the sheriff was actually standing right beside him, hand on his hip and foot tapping impatiently. The prisoner looked up and spotted the dusty old antique in the sheriff's palm. "What are you—"

"Mind telling me what _this _is?" Graham asked, holding the object in front of his eyes for inspection, "and how it _got _in here?"

"Someone," Shane scratched his head, looking up at the lamp as the rest of Gold's ominous visit came back to him. "Someone dropped it off…last night. Slipped it through the bars."

"I see. And I suppose you're gonna lie about who did _that _now too."

"What—"

"Just a hunch of course," Graham continued as he rolled Emma's desk chair inside the cell and plopped down in front of him.

"What are you—"

"Sean's _awake, _Shane," Graham said loudly, clearly, no room for interruption. Shane merely stared at him, but didn't respond. "And, as I'm sure you'll be _shocked _to learn, 'ad a _very _different story for what 'appened between you two in that parking lot." With a heavy, metallic thunk, Graham set the lamp right next to Shane's hip and then propped his elbows up on his knees. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, willing himself to be calm. "Why'd you do it, Shane?" he asked, his voice considerably less irate. "Why'd you cop to something you didn't do? Something, you actually 'elped _prevent_?"

Shane couldn't reply. He just kept staring at the lamp, the events of the past few evenings speeding through his mind on fast-forward. _Son of bitch, _he thought to himself, realizing that Graham had just confirmed everything Gold had told him that last night – like clockwork: Sean was awake, which meant Shane was exonerated and Damian Fisk was no longer in the position of being able to harm Jade's father. Still, pockets ran deep in Storybrooke, and Fisk was just one of many players. "Someone…needed a favor," Shane shrugged, looking down at his lap.

What Shane intended as evasion, however, Graham mistook for nonchalance, and something about Shane's indifferent tone made him snap. "That's it?" said the sheriff, gathering some of Shane's tee-shirt in his fist. "I put myself on the line for you, lad. Defended you. Saved you _weeks'_ worth o' prison time. For _years_ I watched out for you_, _and that's _all _you've got to say?"

"What do you want from me, man?" Shane shrugged himself free, though he couldn't help feeling a bit guilty at the reminder of how much he was indebted to Graham.

"The truth," Graham implored. "For once in your life, Shane. Just…tell me the truth. Tell me wha' you know." He needed Shane to trust him, needed a straight answer. Too much was riding on what little information he and Emma were piecing together, and in the wake of such an eerie interview as he'd had with Regina and John Foulfellow last night, Snow White's faithful huntsman felt like he was running out of time. Shane knew something – maybe he didn't even _know _what he knew, but he knew _something_. Something crucial. Something about Foulfellow that would help Snow and Prince Charming and Henry…and Emma. "Why'd you do it?" he asked again.

Shane was silent for some time, occasionally eyeing the door, then the lamp, then the door again. But at last, he relented, looking up at the scruffy sheriff, and sighed. "A woman came to see me," he said quietly, staring down at the lamp.

"A woman?" Graham drew back. "W-woman? Not a man?" his heart sank.

"No," Shane shook his head, almost laughing, "_Definitely_ a woman." He couldn't forget _that_ chick's curves even if he wanted to, he thought, remembering the rather distressingly beautiful seductress who had approached him at the docks the night after the attack.

"Any idea who?" Graham asked.

"No, and I don't know how she found me either. She just…did."

"What did she want?"

Shane let out a huff, dragging his palms down his face. "She told me that if I didn't confess to the assault on Sean Herman…" he paused and shook his head, almost laughing now at his utter stupidity. Gold was right: _You really should leave deal making to the professionals, my boy. _What good had it done to make that deal? He was no better off _now_ than before, and neither was Jade's father.

"Shane?" the huntsman said, urging him to continue.

Shane took a deep breath. "He said Dr. Fisk would see to it that Magnus would 'suffer the consequences.'"

"Magnus," repeated Graham.

"Jade's father," nodded Shane.

Graham cleared his throat, hesitating before he probed further. After all, he didn't want the young lad to feel as if the information wasn't helpful. "Shane," he tried again, "was there anyone else…with her?"

"_With_ her?"

"This woman who threatened you. Was she working with someone?"

Shane drew back. "Like…?"

"Like," he took a deep breath, "a man perhaps? Young? Lanky? Carries a cane?"

Slowly, Shane sat back on his slab, clearly disturbed by the image that Graham had conjured up.

Graham continued. "Answers to the name of John W. Foulfellow?" The young thief visibly cringed.

"You mean Honest John," said Shane gravely.

The sheriff shot forward, the force of it literally propelling him closer on Emma's rolling chair. "Honest John?"

"That's what _she _calls him."

"Who?"

Shane sighed, looking down once more at the lamp, feeling an odd sense that it and everything they were discussing tonight were somehow intricately related. "Regina," he muttered at last.

Graham struggled to contain his feeling of triumph. _Finally,_ he thought. _Now we're getting somewhere._ "Regina," he repeated; Shane nodded. "He works for her?" Another nod. "Shane," he said softly, causing the boy to glance up at him from the tops of his eyes. "Where can I find him?"

At this Shane threw his head back against the concrete wall and snorted. "You don't _find _Honest John, sheriff," he replied with a scoff. "You pray he doesn't find _you._"

…

Six men watched sadly from afar as Buster Largo stood on his tiptoes and peered over the lip of a garbage dumpster, scavenging for food. Having stopped by the Brooks' shelter for the aged and infirm down the road, they learned that Storybrooke's resident wanderer rarely stayed at the home anymore and had taken more often preferred the streets to the warmth of a guaranteed bed. The day's amusement that had come from clocking each other on the head and dragging each other back to the haven of their cottage now waned as they all implicitly understood and wordlessly agreed that with 'Buster'…or rather, with Dopey, they must take a different approach. They did not want to scare him. In fact, they were fairly certain all that would be required was a bit of kindness and the promise of a hot meal. And so with tremendous love in their hearts, and the anticipated joy that would soon come from being united once more, the seven of them together, Storybrooke's Leroy, Walter, Tobias, Tom, Samuel and Joel set out to awaken Snow White's seventh and final dwarf.

…

Against all odds, Emma had extricated herself from Matt Clancy's tenacious curiosity rather quickly. Having insisted on taking her back to the station, the fireman was adamant that she retreat to a place where she could calm down and approach her troubles with a cooler head. For this, Emma was immensely grateful – the thought of what she'd almost done, what she had allowed herself to be driven to – it stopped her heart cold. So it was fortunate Clancy had been there to stop her.

Once sufficiently calmed, however, Emma grew desperately impatient to leave. For one thing, she wanted to avoid seeing any further recollections of 'King Philip's' that Matt clearly had buried in his brain. Seeing him awaken Aurora, a woman she swore she recognized, did nothing except excite further apprehension inside her over these strange visions…and if she were completely honest, she didn't really feel like bearing witness to this 'wedding' Philip had alluded to.

Explaining to Matt that it was a simple custody dispute turned ugly, and insisting again (and profusely) that her intent had been only to _scare_ the mayor, Emma managed to escape Matt's impromptu interrogation. She had a feeling the paramedic wasn't entirely convinced, but she had at least succeeded in assuring him that his immediate concerns had been rectified: there would be no more attempts on Regina's life (not at gunpoint anyway).

Still, it was nearly 11 by the time she left the station, and though there was nothing she wanted to do more than continue the relentless search for her son, she knew now that her confrontation with Regina put them all at risk. She couldn't pursue anything further without warning her family. So she set out for the school.

"Oh thank the Gods!" hissed her mother as Emma rushed into the blessedly empty classroom. Snow, who had been sitting at her desk, had sprung up immediately, sending her leather chair rolling backwards. James, whose arm had been braced against the far window, turned with a very visible sigh of relief as both parents crossed the room to meet her.

"Are you all right?" asked her father.

"Did you find Henry?"

"Where have you been?"

Emma glanced between them, steeling herself against the reaction she was sure would come. "I went...to see Regina."

"You what?" cried Snow.

"Emma, are you ok?" James grasped her shoulder, but Emma shrugged away almost immediately.

"I'm fine," she said tersely, hating the way it sounded, hating the frustration she felt at seeing them just sitting here – _sitting _here waiting for her. As if _that _would help them find Henry. "She has him. She has Henry."

Snow and James exchanged terrified looks. "She _told _you that?" asked Snow.

"Yes."

"You're sure?" said James.

Emma, having reached her mother's desk, gripped its edge and gritted her teeth. "Well, I dunno, James," she whirled around, "she said '_I took your son from you_', so yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Stunned by her biting reply, James threw Snow a worried glance which his wife returned. "James isn't trying to…be difficult, sweetheart," said Snow, coming around her desk to join her. "It's just—"

"Regina doesn't typically volunteer information like that," James explained. "Not without some sort of cover up—"

"Yeah well, there wasn't much chance of her doing that," she muttered. "She knows."

Again, husband and wife exchanged glances. "She…knows? What do you mean?" asked Snow.

Emma didn't look up from the desk. "I told her…that I know who she really is."

"What?!"

"That she's the queen…and…that I'm…your daughter," Emma said hurriedly, far from oblivious to the palpable panic overtaking the room. "All bets were off at that point."

"Emma – what have you—"

"Look," she whirled around, pounding her fist on the desk, "the last thing I need is a lecture, ok? If you haven't noticed, the _head _of Operation Cobra is missing – _kidnapped_. Gone because I didn't follow my gut and get him away from her yesterday. So I'm sorry if I've blown your precious cover, but I warned you both last night: I don't care if that's what happens. If it gets me closer to my son, I don't care!" Her face flushed with a sort of heated mixture of indignation and embarrassment. She turned to face the chalkboard, knowing full well her pitiful defense only went so far. After all, it _hadn't _gotten her any closer to her son.

Snow's face paled as her daughter spoke, and a reproachful anger bubbled up inside her as she fought the urge to admonish Emma's rash stupidity with Regina. But she was determined not to make the same mistake now as she had back in the forest. Revealing to Emma the truth of her parentage had not …gone well. And, she couldn't very well attack her daughter for doing no less than _she_ would have had she faced the queen head on. "Emma…" she tried patiently, "you have every right to be—"

"Don't do that," she said in a harsh whisper. "Don't tell me what _I_ have a right to do, all right?" she turned back to Snow. "This is about Henry. What's _Henry_ got a right to? He's got a right to a family – to a mother who actually loves him. To finally being _happy _in a world that forced him to be miserable."

"Emma—"

"I had a chance to give him that, and I blew it."

"There's no way you could've—"

But Emma cut them both off. "Look," she held up her hands, holding them at bay. "I know I screwed up, ok? I know what I revealed to Regina forces us all underground, and I'm sorry. I just – I just needed to find – to …" she trailed off, an uncomfortable silence overtaking them all before her father stepped forward.

"To protect your child," said James, gently. "At any cost."

Emma looked up and met his eye. The judgment and shock there were both gone. "Yeah…" Emma nodded, holding his gaze, grateful for his understanding. "Yeah exactly." The silence settled once more, all three of them seeming to adopt a 'what's-done-is-done' attitude and move forward. "So, listen," she said, readjusting the zipper of her parka and pulling her gloves out of her pocket. "You guys all need to head down to the cottage as soon as possible. Take everyone with you too – everyone who might be targets now – people she'll know we've been talking to: Archie, Marco, Kathryn…Ella and Christopher, Thomas if you can figure out how to move him—"

"What about you?" Snow followed her to the door.

Emma took another deep breath. "I'm going…to see Gold."

James and Snow stopped dead in their tracks. "What!?"

"Emma, no. You—"

But Emma's stern gaze cut them off, resentment building as she once again felt the need to justify herself to her parents. Christ, this was so much easier when she worked cases _alone_ in Boston. "Regina claims that only _she_ knows where Henry is hiding. I think that's crap. From what I've read in that book, I'm pretty sure Rumpelstiltskin is actually the one calling the shots around here. And I'm betting he knows _something_."

"Emma, you can't!" James insisted, crossing over to the bulletin board just inside the classroom where his daughter had stopped.

"Like hell I can't."

"Stiltskin doesn't give out information for free," he argued, almost furiously. "Who _knows _what he'll ask you for in return?"

"So what?" Emma pulled on one glove. "I already owe him one favor. What's one more if it gets me to Henry?"

"Emma, stop. I can't let you do this—" said a panicked James as he practically lunged for the door and grabbed her bare wrist. Emma tried to pull away, tried to prevent him, but his hand touched hers and instantly, Emma felt herself yanked backward, flying through her vortex.

_Not again! _she thought as James's vise-like grip closed around her arm. She'd figured it out with Philip. The second she touched someone, the second someone's skin came into contact with hers, she was cast into a vision. Praying she'd end up somewhere familiar this time, she held her breath as the nauseating vortex threw her back in time…and landed her in Gold's shop.

"What the—" she muttered as the imp-turned-pawn broker came into view. He was arguing with someone at his counter – a man in a familiar looking jacket. "Gold!" she growled, knowing he couldn't hear her. But she stalked up the aisle anyway, determined to see why fate had shown her—

Gold tapped his cane against the floor and grinned up at the man standing before him. "Now what would I gain by revealing your secret?" he asked. "If I did that, I would have to reveal my own."

"That only means you're waiting to do so when it's of greatest profit to you," replied the man, and hearing his voice before she even reached the front, Emma recognized him instantly. It was James.

"And why not? When you're in the business of information, _timing _is half its worth. Old news is…well, old news," said Gold with a tinny little laugh. "For instance _time_ seems to be, oh shall we say, running out for your daughter out there? Seems she needs _this_ little bit of information quite badly." He held up a small index card which Emma instantly recognized. _Of course, _she thought. Thiswas that confusing night at the shop last week! That night when she'd gone to Gold to discover what she could about the Zimmers' compass. "Too bad for her, you interrupted our bargain. I wouldn't have asked for much," Gold added.

Emma held her breath, watching as James's hand shot forward and stopped the old imp from replacing the card in his file.

"Here's what's going to happen," muttered her father through gritted teeth. "You're going to give me the name that Emma needs to solve her case. You're never gonna make another deal with…or _about _Emma again. And…you're not gonna breathe a word to _anyone_ about what we've spoken of today."

Emma gasped as she moved further down the far aisle, gaining a better view of them both. Gold laughed sardonically and slithered out of James's grasp. "And why would I agree to such terms?" he asked as Emma now watched them both head-on.

"Because of what I'm offering you in return," said her father. _What was it_, she seethed, watching James with near rage now. What had 'dear old dad' traded away to prevent Gold from ever dealing with her again?

James placed both palms on the glass counter, swallowing hard. "Amnesty," he said.

Emma watched in utter disbelief as the two continued to negotiate. So _that's _what he'd been doing when he sent her out of here. _That's _the deal he'd made to get her Michael Tillman's name? _No more deals with Emma, huh?_ she cringed, folding her arms over her chest. _We'll see about that_.

"No more deals with or about Emma I know – that is _written _plainly as you see here," Gold was saying now as he waved the prince off dismissively. "But I want some insurance for the one I already made."

"What do you mean?" grumbled James.

Gold leaned forward and hovered his hand once more over the contract, weaving a new clause at the bottom. "As a condition of this deal, I want your _word_ that when the time comes for me to collect on my favor …You. Will. Not. Interfere."

Emma saw James literally gape in pain, the weight of this last request seeming to have the effect of a sword plunged into his gut, and despite how angry Emma was now, she couldn't help but feel sorry for what she knew must be agony for him. Gold hovered the quill further into view and he looked up. The tower had started peeling from the distant square, and James swallowed hard as the two stared at each other for a long while. Finally, the imp leaned forward and whispered, "Well?"

Emma caught her breath. _No,_ she pleaded in her head, like she was watching an old movie for which she already knew the outcome but still hoped for a different result. _No no no no! Don't do it!_ But she knew he'd agreed. He'd headed right out to the car soon after this, she remembered, where she and Henry had been waiting for the information about Tillman. Having seen all she needed to see, the vision dissolved and she was yanked out of the past. The last thing she saw was James reaching over the countertop to shake the devil's hand.

"Get off me!" Emma yelled, wrenching herself away from her father as the present rematerialized around her and she was back in the classroom.

"Emma – what—"

"How _could _you?" she asked, treacherous tears forming in her eyes.

"How could I what?!"

"You made a deal with him," she rasped, clutching at her heart and catching her breath. "You made a deal with Gold. About _me_!"

James's face went stark pale as his wife came up beside him. "How did you—"

"Who the hell _cares _how I know?" Emma cried. "Tell her!" she pointed over to Snow who was watching the whole scene now with the most horrified expression. "Tell her about the deal you made. Tell her how you fixed it so Rumpelstiltskin won't ever be able to help me again!" She knew she sounded hysterical, but in deciding to try Mr. Gold's for information, she'd managed to convince herself that he would not only be able to help her, but that he would have all the answers.

"I already know, Emma," said Snow, standing by her husband, placing her hand firmly on his shoulder.

This almost comical display of parental solidarity drove Emma wild. "Oh, you knew!" she slapped her palm to her forehead. "Of course you did. Sure. That's right, the two of you always make the decision to betray me _together_."

"Emma!" cried Snow, but James at last had recovered and stepped in front of her.

"I _didn't_ betray you, Emma. I was trying to protect you."

"From what, the truth?"

"From _this_," he insisted, grasping her by the shoulders. "From caving to this _exact _temptation. Rumpelstiltskin preys on the desperate. And there is _nothing_ more desperate," he paused and glanced back at Snow, "than a mother searching for her child."

"So you thought you'd fix it all nice, did you?" Emma spat, shrugging out of his grasp. "I see it was all right for _you _to make a deal."

"And I told you _that _at the time—" he argued, but Snow cut in.

"What do you mean you _see _it, Emma?" she implored, not wanting the mystery of Emma's sudden enlightenment to get away from them. "_How _did you know about that deal?" she asked, advancing on her. "It seems almost like it just…came to you."

Emma looked back and forth between two scrutinizing gazes and then up at the classroom clock. This was getting them nowhere – Regina already had a head start from this morning—

"Emma," whispered Snow and Emma jumped. Her mother seemed to have glided across the room and was now standing directly in front of her. "Tell us," she pleaded. "What's happening to you?"

Emma stared at them, huffing and panting in short, raspy breaths, feeling a sort of childish anger towards her mother for deflecting what was left of her indignant rant against her father. But in Snow's gaze there was neither condemnation for her outburst, nor accusation in her voice – just worry. A mother's worry. Something she finally understood. "I…I saw it," she muttered, with a tired sigh. "In a vision."

"A vision?" James too moved forward.

"What kind of vision?"

Emma started. "There are different _kinds_?" she spluttered, then shook her head. "Look, I don't know why it started. I just…ever since last night I've been…" she glanced nervously at the floor, that familiar panic settling in her stomach as her parents' expressions went from worry to fear. She was going crazy – she knew it. She was going crazy—

"Are you saying you've had visions of the past?" Snow asked, "_Our _past?"

Emma nodded. "Whenever someone touches me," she added, "I get thrown back into this…this swirling…mess, and I land in someone else's memory. I saw James' deal with Gold. I s-saw the two of you…give me up. I even saw something of Philip a little while ago and—" Finally, she gathered the courage to look her mother in the eye and was astonished to find only wonder and amazement where she was sure she'd find dread. "What?"

"James," Snow whispered, glancing back at her husband. "She's a seer."

Emma's gaze juddered between them, startled by her father's thoroughly dumbfounded expression. To Snow he merely nodded, his mouth hanging open. "W-what's a seer?" she asked.

James managed to swallow, shook himself out of his stupor, and replied. "One who…sees the truth."

"What?" Emma drew back. She certainly didn't like the sound of _that_.

"Seers can see truth in even the darkest souls," Snow explained.

But the deputy just shook her head, "Wait, what are you saying—"

"I've only ever heard of them in legends," Snow went on, now regarding her daughter with a kind of unnerving reverence. "But it is said that seers can peek into your past. Can journey with you to a point that perhaps even you had forgotten, and draw forth the truths that need to be spoken."

"Now, just hold on a second—" Emma pulled back, feeling not unlike she'd just been placed on a slide under a microscope.

"It's a very rare gift, Emma," said Snow who was positively beaming. "I've never actually encountered any before now—"

"A _gift?_" she cried. "You call this a gift?!"

"Why not?" put in James, still gazing at her in wonder, though at the same time sensing his daughter's aversion to all things magic. "_You_ called it a superpower."

Both mother and daughter glanced back at him. "What?" Emma started.

"A superpower," he nodded, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "One of the first things you ever said to me." He came around a row of desks dividing them and was pleased that this time she didn't pull away. "Even before you believed in the curse, you told Henry that you had a superpower – you could always tell if someone was lying."

"I-I just said that to the kid…to get him to tellme—" she stuttered, though her father's point made a frightful amount of sense.

"I don't think so," James shook his head. "You've been right about everything, haven't you? You were right about Snow? About me? These visions you're having must be…an evolution of that power. Something you've _always _had, Emma.

Miniature visions now flashed before her eyes – the many times since arriving in Storybrooke that her "superpower" had led her in the right direction, that her instincts about people, from Archie to Regina, had always proven right. Could it be? Could what she'd been playfully referring to as a "superpower" for Henry's sake actually _be _just that? A power? A part of the intense magic she felt brewing inside her ever since Jefferson's?

"Emma?" Snow touched her shoulder, though she was careful to only brush the material of her jacket. "Do you know what this means?"

"Yeah," she muttered, staring blankly before her. "It means," her eyes darted around, processing the information. A few days ago, this might have been all a little too much for Emma Swan to take, but the discovery of her visions as an extension of her magic filled her with a rather intoxicating notion. "It means," she paused and looked up with a sort of maniacal gleam in her eye. "It means I don't _have _to make a deal with Gold," she realized out loud.

"What?" cried both her parents, clearly expecting a different response.

"He's gonna tell me everything," Emma said with a grin, "Without even knowing it." She turned once more to the door, pulling on her other glove.

"Emma wait, that's not—"

"Just because you can _see_ doesn't mean you can control—"

"Listen," she spun around to face them, adamant that this time they respect…or at least accept her decision. "I know how much you two…" she struggled, searching for the words, "I know you mean well." She glanced up at James. "I even know, deep down…you meant well with that deal." James looked away as she continued. "You both have this-this _sense_ that…you need to protect me. That you need to – to make up for lost time or something—"

"Emma," said her mother, "that's not it—"

"But what I need now is a _lead,_" she insisted, "not a parent." The remark clearly stung them both, but Emma pressed on, determined they understand her. That they believe in her. "You sent me through here to give me my best chance," she said, her voice hitching in her throat. "And I got it. It wasn't the best life, but it taught me to be strong – to look out for myself." She took a step toward her mother, seeing her own pain reflected in Snow's eyes. But there was strength there too. And pride. And in spite of everything, she smiled. "Now, I need to look out for Henry…to give _him _his best chance."

"And that chance is Gold?" said James, his impassioned grunt still chocked full of doubt.

Emma took a deep breath and stepped towards her father. "Maybe, maybe not. But we're not gonna get anywhere by playing it safe. _You _knew that when you set out to capture him in the first place."

James's crossed arms fell to his sides and he gaped. "What? How did you—"

"I've read your story…Dad," she rasped. James gasped and tears welled in Snow's eyes. "I know the risks you take to protect your friends. To protect your family." She turned to her mother, "_Both_ of you."

Snow clasped her daughter's wrist and squeezed. James remained stunned, staring at her through his watery gaze. Had she really just called him…_Dad_?

"Now you've gotta let me do the same." She slipped out of her mother's grasp and headed once more for the door. "I _do_ need your help," she said as she pulled on her hat. "I need you to get everyone else to safety, to protect our friends…so I can save our family."

…

*****So! Hmm…yeah, it's been a while! Happy Thanksgiving everyone! (And Labor Day, and Halloween, and pretty much everything else that's happened since I last updated!) And to my international readers out there who do not celebrate such things, happy end-of-autumn!**

**As I have explained to some of you in individual messages, September through November for me is VERY hectic, and school is especially tough this year having taken on an additional prep. I'm basically in charge of four extra-curricular activities/events at school, all of which operate solely in the fall semester. So I apologize for the huge gap in updates, and will only add a HUGE thank you for allowing me back into your graces this fine Saturday eve and hope that you continue to enjoy the story as it unfolds. **

**Many of you have messaged, asking me if I'm going to include Neal, if I'm going to change my Aurora and Philip stories, if I'm going to account for the incredibly good-looking Hook we were introduced to a few weeks ago, etc. To those questions, I will simply reiterate what I have said before on similar occasions last year when the show diverged from my own concept: I intend to include as much canon as I can so long as it doesn't interfere with what I already had/have planned for these characters.**

**It's good to be back, and I hope you continue to stick with "Toll Bridge" as Emma tracks down Mr. Gold and James and Snow try to arrange a mass exodus of allies down to the caverns. And then there's that pesky Regina and how SHE will react to all this. Stay tuned if you dare! **

**And thanks again for your continued readership!**

**-Nikstlitslepmur*****


	35. Of Mice and Men

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Of Mice and Men**

"Awake, Regina!" bellowed Tremaine as the Council of Rogues stalked through the corridors of the bastion, today's brood of villains partially depleted given Fisk's recent hospitalization and Hook being stuck at the boys' home. John, she noticed, was suspiciously missing again too, though she had more to worry about than the whereabouts of her hired hand. Regina's mind was racing almost as quickly as her heels carried her beneath the bell tower. Though she'd left the scene at the courthouse with the air and countenance of one completely in control, she was anything but calm. It was confirmed. Her precious status quo was destroyed. People were awake in the curse, perhaps dozens by now, and there was no true way to tell who. Snow and James were safe guesses, and Adam certainly, whom they'd never been able to successfully put under in the first place. And if Adam was awake, so was Belle, and perhaps even Thomas? And Cinderella? And at the center of it all – the very person prophesied to have released them all in the first place. The savior – Emma Swan.

"Yelling at me right now gets us nowhere, Rodmilla," she barked as they continued their trek past the council meeting room, through another set of heavy doors and down a flight of stone steps, deeper into the caverns beneath the town square. Why had she been so stupid? Why hadn't she immediately recognized the threat in its true form when it drove into town in that ridiculous yellow buggy? Regina had been so overcome with the standard worries of a mother in _this_ world, frightened at the prospect of a birth mother returning for her adopted son, that she ignored what was blatantly obvious about Emma from the start. In 28 years no one had ever been able to enter Storybrooke and stay there. Emma broke through those boundaries with ease, in the exact year she'd been prophesied to do so. Like clockwork.

"Perhaps not, but I can't _help_ but point out that had we foiled their initial application for a license in the first place—"

"Oh for God's sake!" Regina turned on her reluctant ally, scowling at her beneath the blue sconces alighting the tunnels. The rest of the group halted too: Tremaine, Circe, Gunlief and Ursula, all heading towards what they hoped to be some sort of massive base of operations or armory from which they could attack their respective realms. In twenty-eight years, it had never occurred to them that there was more beneath the old bell tower than the few chambers in which they'd gathered. After all, there had never been any need to act beyond sending an invitation from the Mills manor to share in a bewitching slice of apple pie or, in rare cases, restoring Graham Humbert to the curse. "Ella and Thomas, Tremaine? Really? Their _wedding _is your only concern right now? Don't you see how much further this goes? Do you think you might give up your petty little class war for a moment and look at the bigger picture here?"

"_My _petty little war? How about _your_ life-long quest to make one princess's life as miserable as possible to the point where—"

"Enuf!" cried the head troll, still disguised as Mister Bridgeport, though Regina could see glimpses of his true state peeking through the human veneer – his eyes were turning yellow, and his hair was thinning out. "We all agreed on dese terms yers ago," he huffed, using his big hands to push the madams away from each other. "All uv us 'ave our own vendettas and grudges and we all sed we'd pool our magic tagither ta make sher all of 'em sufferrd. Fightin' 'bout it now won't change dat and it sher as hell won't bring dat no good prince charming any closer to the sharp edge a my knife! Now," he cleared his throat, glaring down Regina. "What is it you got in mind, yer Majesty?"

Regina gulped. Never had a troll, not even Gunlief, asserted such authority in her presence. Were she at full power she might have hurled him across the cavern with the wave of her hand and slammed him into the damp rock for even daring to touch her. Had she truly lost her grip on everything?

… _I am sure it will severely bruise your ego, but you don't have, nor have you ever had any control over the fate of this curse…_

Regina tried to shake Gold's taunt from her mind, but his impish voice continued in her head…

…_You operate as if you control the spell. Dearie…you are its most valuable pawn…_

No, she thought. No, she'd show him. She'd show all of them. Steeling herself up and squaring her shoulders erect, she turned toward the last set of double-iron doors without a word and yanked them open. Charmed torches lit ablaze along the walls of the semi-circular vault as the rogues stepped inside. Even Circe gasped in amazement as they beheld a trove of artifacts stored in small square cubbies along the wall. There was magic here; they could feel it – the queen's reserves. And in the center of the room stood an enormous golden chest with hundreds of little drawers. To their left was a stone staircase that seemed to go nowhere, though Tremaine surmised there was likely another entrance from somewhere on the surface. That didn't matter here, however. None of them needed explanation of the power they now beheld, and the seductive lure of such power had them each salivating at the mouth as Regina stepped up to stacks of golden treasure boxes and called forth a particular drawer. It opened and Regina delicately removed a glowing, beating, human heart. "What I have in mind, Gunlief," she said steadily, turning with the precious organ pulsing between her fingers, "is what we planned from the very beginning."

Gunlief gulped, licking his lips from the sheer excitement of what she'd just suggested. "Y-you mean it's—"

"We all knew this day would come," she said to them all. "And you all know what to do." She gave the heart a light squeeze, a warning to the poor soul whose heart she held and a portent for more pain to come. The act was a frightful reminder of just how dangerous the queen could be and seemed to restore a little of that fear she so loved in others' eyes as she leaned forward and said sternly, "Now get moving."

…

"_Hey Pal," _called a soft voice from beyond the tremulous abyss. Henry's eyes started to twitch though they remained shut. _"Oh Pal, hey, wake up!_" it said again, high-pitched, urgent, full of compassion. In the space between sleep and awake, the young New Gaian prince thought it might have been Snow or his mom calling to him. _"Henry, come on Pal. I can't do this by myself!" _Finally Henry's eyes fluttered open and focused on the ceiling above him. Shadows danced across its textured surface, and the iron rods of the bed frame beneath the hard mattress on which he lay squeaked as he shifted his weight and propped himself up on one elbow. "Mom?" he called out in a small voice, and then instantly remembered where he was…or rather, where he wasn't. He wasn't in Storybrooke any longer. That was for sure. Where he'd been taken? That was a different story. _"Pssst. That's it Henry. Way ta go, Pal!" _

Ok, the voice was definitely not his mother. Emma's voice wasn't _that _high-pitched, and it was frankly much less…perky.

_"Hey! I'm down here!"_ cried the voice, and it was only then that Henry realized that it was sounding not out loud, but in his head…it was an animal.

Swallowing hard, Henry fisted the coarse wool blanket beneath him and peered over the edge of the mattress. In the dim light spilling from the crack beneath the doorway of this strange little cell, Henry's eyes fell upon a tiny hole – a mouse hole, chewed out of the wall, and beneath what Henry could only guess was the little entrance to his home stood a tiny, grey mouse.

_"Well it's about time!" _the voice cried in exasperation, though his tone was sweet and jovial.

"Leave me alone," Henry mumbled at once, and rolled back over on the bed.

_"Can't do that, Pal," _replied the mouse, and the boy heard tiny paws scurrying across the wooden floor.

"I mean it, rat," he replied, shaking his head. "Beat it. You don't wanna hang around me."

By this time, the little mouse had climbed one of the bedposts and padded across wool blanket.

_"Aww, that's not true, Henry. Not true at all. In fact, I've been waitin' for ya!"_

"Yeah well," Henry slammed his hand against the side of the mattress and hoisted himself to a sitting position. "You waited around for nothing, ok?" The abrupt motion sent the mouse flying back down to the floor, though he landed gracefully as a cat and didn't at all seem put out by the mini-tantrum. In fact, he brushed himself off rather patiently and shook the dust from his fur. Henry huffed, refusing to glance any longer at the persistent rodent. Instead, he tried to focus on his surroundings, taking a mental inventory of the room despite it being so dark. It was a small chamber, barely the size of Regina's walk-in closet at home. The iron bed was on the wall opposite the door. In the far left corner of the room stood a small table with a matching stool and a few crumpled up pieces of paper. In the other corner lay what looked to be the remains of another table and stool, or possibly a short hat rack, for there was an old fashioned cap lying among the debris. Large rods and dowels lay in a collapsed heap as if someone had thrown one of those weighted softballs at a carnival game and clobbered some strange wooden tower to shreds. Finally, beside the bed on the cold, stone wall was the mouse hole, just big enough for his unwanted friend.

_"Oh, I don't think that's true, Pal," _said the mouse, who had returned cheerfully to his little archway.

"It _is _true, all right?" Henry crossed his arms tightly over his chest, staring blankly ahead. "Trust me, you don't wanna talk to me. You talk to me and you'll…" he choked back a sob, determined not to cry again, though tears stung his eyes as the painful memories of the events that had brought him here slowly returned. "You'll…get hurt." Coward_, _he thought. He couldn't even say it. He couldn't speak it out loud: _You talk to me…and you'll die._

The mouse seemed to pause, pondering thoughtfully beneath his archway before pattering forward. "_Why, Henry? Cuz of what happened to Lucy?"_

The boy gasped, wrenching his gaze back to the furry critter who had quite silently (well, quiet as a mouse after all) climbed back up iron bed post and seated himself at the foot of the blanket. "You – you know about that?"

The mouse bowed his head, placing a tiny claw on Henry's worn out sneaker. "_It wasn't your fault, Pal. Not by a long shot_."

"H-how do you even know?" he implored, too confused to accept the undeserved pardon he'd just been offered.

"_Word travels faster among the animals, 'specially us little guys_," explained the rodent in an almost sage-like tone.

Henry sniffled and scratched his nose. "Why's that?" he blinked, curiosity as usual getting the better of him. "Are you…faster?"

_"Nah," _returned the mouse. _"There's just more of us. For every one wolf or lion out there, we got about a thousand birds, bugs and rats."_

"We?" Henry shook his head. "Who's 'we'?"

The mouse straightened up proudly on his haunches. _"Why Critters o' course!" _his squeaky voice sounded between Henry's ears. _"Protectors of the Young Ones."_

The boy was about to reply then snapped his mouth shut. _Young One_, his face fell. Lucy had called him that.

The mouse seemed to sense the source of his grief and gave Henry's shoelaces a gentle tug. "_Hey," _the voice sounded softly, _"Lucy came to you cuz you needed help."_

"She came cuz I wasn't smart enough to figure out how ta get to Snow and Emma myself!" Henry bellowed, pounding his fist against his thigh and shaking his head; try as he might, he couldn't shake the image of Regina smiting down the poor little bird mid-flight, the lifeless tuft of blue feathers crumpled up on his floor. A few tears trickled down his cheeks as he sagged his head, resting his chin on his propped knee.

_"It's the duty of _all_ critters to protect the children of Storybrooke, Henry," _said the mouse after allowing the boy his outburst. _"Lucy knew that. And she knew the risks." _With a squeak and a twitch of his long whiskers, the mouse bounded up on top of Henry's sneaker and then scurried up his leg. The boy drew back, lifting his chin as the mouse took its place on his knee. Their eyes were almost level now, and though the mouse's were black and beady, there was a sort of wisdom and kindness about his gaze. _"The important thing now is to make sure her sacrifice wasn't for nothing."_ Henry gulped; he'd been afraid someone would say something like that sooner or later. Good guys are always saying important stuff like that to each other. _"You've got a job to do Pal, and you can't do it if you're just gonna mope."_

"Mope!?" Henry cried, exasperated. He stretched his arms out at his sides and gestured around the small chamber. "I'm in a locked room in the middle of nowhere! What kind of _job _am I supposed to be _doing _exactly?"

_"There are an awful lot of children depending on you, Henry," _replied the mouse, ears and nose twitching like crazy, though the voice in his head had turned eerily stern.  
>"Oh yeah? Like who?"<p>

"_Like him." _The mouse gestured to the corner where stood the broken…table? chair? hat rack? – whatever it was, and Henry strained to see—

He gasped, nearly choking from shock. The mouse pattered back down his leg and stepped aside as Henry scooted to the foot of the bed, lowered his sneakers to the ground, and rose to his feet. _No way_, he thought as he drew closer to the dark corner. _No freaking way_! But as he inched closer, it was all too clear: that pile of wooden scraps collecting dust in the corner, what he'd taken for random debris when he first awoke, was actually a small…wooden…boy.

Henry pointed shakily to the crumpled up puppet. "I-is that…" he gulped again, "is that who I th-think it is?"

"_Name's Pinocchio," _replied the mouse with a sort of twinkle in his eye. "_Wasn't always like that o' course. Not in the beginning."_

Henry continued to stare at what he now saw was a smoothly sanded face beneath the old fashioned cap that lay on the floor. "Whadya mean?" he managed, though his gaze remained glued to the wooden doll.

"_He was a kid in town like all the rest," _the rodent explained, jumping down to the floor and planting himself an equal distance between the prince and the puppet. _"Came over with the curse like everyone else, but then he started askin' questions. Too many questions. Just like you, Pal. And eventually he started rememberin' things. So they brought him here. Hid him away with the others."_

Henry started. "The 'others'?"

_"The Lost Boys," _the mouse replied rather matter-of-factly, though Henry's jaw was practically dragging on the floor.

"Th-the _Lost _Boys?!" he cried, taking a few steps back. "Like…like Peter _Pan's_ lost boys—"

_"Shhh," _sounded the voice as the mouse shook his head. "_Don't wanna risk the wrong folks hearin', you know?"_

"Right," Henry nodded, feeling sheepish. He bit his bottom lip, trying to process everything. "Sooooo," he juddered his gaze back to Pinocchio, deciding to tackle one mind-blowing revelation at a time. "Why is he a puppet again? Wasn't he a real boy when he and Geppetto were building Snow the wardrobe?"

The mouse sighed. _"He was. That's what makes it so sad." _He pattered a bit further towards the puppet, shaking his head. _"Regina never could figure out the fairy dust problem."_

"Fairy dust?"

The mouse cleared his tiny throat. _"All the kids here…well, _most _of them anyway, are children who were gifted with generous amounts of fairy dust before_ _the queen enacted her curse. Regina didn't know it at the time, but enough fairy dust in your blood offers a strong defense against dark magic."_

Henry's mind immediately raced through hundreds of pages in his storybook, and he shook his head in protest. "But then…the fairies themselves, and Cinderella, and the dwarves! Why aren't they—"

_"They're not _children _Henry," _replied the mouse, and in a strange way, Henry could _hear _the mouse smile, though his whiskers still twitched and jerked the way a normal rodent's would. _"Children are naturally more immune to chaos and despair. They're also quite curious, you know, and far more likely than grownups to have an open mind about things like curses and evil queens and magic. Why do you think they brought you here in the first place?"_

Henry frowned, "To shut me up."

The mouse grinned (he _knew _this kid was quick), then turned back to Pinocchio. _"I'm afraid poor Pinoke got the worst of it."_

"Whadya mean?"

"_Well, the curse works a little…differently here," _said the squeaky voice, _"But its primary job is still the same – to undo happy endings."_

"Right?" Henry swallowed hard and stared at the puppet, not sure he liked where this was going.

"_Well in town, that means fake memories and forgotten pasts. But for a wooden boy who was only made real through the love of his father?"_

"The curse turned him back into a puppet?" asked the young prince, looking sadly at the crumpled mess of wood.

"_Once the fairy dust soaked up as much of the curse here as it could. Couldn't very well keep him a real boy _and _protect against dark magic. Not without Geppetto._"

Henry sighed,"So long, happy ending." The mouse didn't respond, merely nodded, which Henry took as confirmation. He crept a few more feet forward, still in mild disbelief: he stood not ten feet away from the world's most famous marionette. "So is he…" Henry gulped, craning his neck to get a better view. "Is he dead?"

_"Nawh," _squeaked the mouse. _"Just lifeless."_

Henry turned. "That's…not the same thing?"

Again the mouse seemed to smile as he looked up and wriggled his tail. _"Only if you don't believe in fairies."_ His cryptic response prompted yet another flummoxed expression from the boy which the mouse couldn't help but snicker at. _"Wooden puppets don't talk or move without strings in _this _world Henry. Whadya crazy?" _but Henry could hear the grin in his voice. _"Not enough magic here…until today of course."_

"T-today?"

_"Sure! You know how long it's been since I've _talked_ to a human? You're special, Pal. You've brought the magic back!"_

But Henry was already shaking his head. "No…n-no, you've got it wrong mister. _I'm _not the one with the magic—"

_"Of course you are—"_

"No, that's my mom. _Emma."_

The mouse just chuckled. _"Well, yes. You're mom's got it too – is it so hard to believe she passed a little of it on? Otherwise, how're we standing here talkin' like this?"_

Henry's mouth hung open. What the heck was going _on?_ It just wasn't possible…was it? This little guy did seem to know an awful lot. And the rat had a point – Henry _did_ have the gift of communicating with animals. But then again, so did Snow. And Snow wasn't magic…or was she? Henry squeezed his eyes shut. This was _too _confusing. When his grandma told him about his gift, he'd joked that it was his own 'superpower', but he didn't think that meant _actual_ magic. He'd just figured he was like one of those cool characters on TV who also had strange "gifts" – like reading minds or talking to ghosts. But…_real _magic? He looked down at his hand and was shocked to find it trembling at his side. No, it just didn't make sense. _Emma _was the one with the magic. _Emma _was the savior.

"_Search inside yourself, Young One," _came the mouse's reassuring voice.

Henry sighed, feeling worse. "Young One," he said softly. That's what Lucy called me."

"_That's right, Henry. And she _wanted _to be there. She wanted to help you. And she did._" Henry turned to him questioningly, crouching down before the mouse whose compassion and empathy suddenly seemed to fill the room. _"Her sacrifice brought you _here_."_ Henry looked back to Pinocchio, heart pounding out of his little chest as the mouse hopped up on the boy's thigh and pattered up to his shoulder. _"It's time to stop reading about heroes Henry. It's your turn to _be _one."_

He swallowed hard, straining his neck back to look the little mouse in the eye. "Who _are _you?" he whispered.

And again, he heard the mouse grin._ "Why I'm the Head Critter o' course. But you can call me Mick." _

…

"I think it's best if we split up," said Snow as she hobbled in her front door, throwing an overly stuffed tote of school materials and books on a nearby chair along with the coat she hadn't even bothered putting on. She headed straight for her bedroom nook at the far end of the room and started furiously pulling open drawers and throwing supplies into a duffle bag. James entered slowly behind her and closed the door. "Frederick said he could take care of Archie and Geppetto on his way home from the school," Snow continued, "I suppose one of us should go to the hospital and get Ella, Thomas and Mitchell. Do you think we should alert Doc too? I know he's not fully awake but—" Snow looked up to find James still standing beneath the small light bulb that hung just inside the entranceway, hands shoved in his pockets, with that pensive look in his eyes that she _sometimes_ found charming. "What?" she asked, a little edgier than she'd intended.

"Hmm?" James started. "Sorry. No, I don't think we need to worry about Doc just yet."

Snow rolled her eyes, mildly irritated by the way her husband always seemed to know exactly what she'd been saying despite seeming a million miles away. "James, what is it?" she demanded.

He shook his head again. "Nothing."

She tilted her head to the side, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's Emma isn't it," she said. "Worried about her going to Gold's?"

At last, James's eyes seemed to fully focus on his wife's and his mouth curled into a half-grin. "No it's…it's not that. I'm just—"

"Then what is it?" Snow cried, feeling even _more _anxious now that her husband didn't seem at _all _to be joining in her panic attack. "Come on. Why are you not—" she spread her hands apart, each one clutching some item of clothing – "freaking out?"

James actually laughed, which might have irritated his wife even more, had he not immediately followed it up with an explanation. "She…" he shook his head with a shrug, "She called me…_Dad._"

The way his voice shook a little as he said it gave Snow pause and she slowly lowered her things to the bed. "James—"

"I know," he sighed, moving towards her, "I know that I should be…freaking out more. And I am _very _concerned about what may or may not happen at Gold's, and I am _very _worried about Henry and where Regina put him, and I know we have miles to go before we sleep but…" he glanced toward the ceiling now, letting out another sigh as he came to stand in front of her. "But I don't know, Snow, I also have this—" he clutched his stomach as he held her gaze – "this feeling that somehow, someway…we're all gonna make it through this. As a family."

Snow stared up into his crystalline gaze and tried to smile. After all, it _was_ a wonderful moment between father and daughter, a testament to the strong bond that had developed between them. But…though Snow shuddered to admit to such a petty, trifling bit of envy, it had been _James's _moment with Emma…not hers. And it didn't change the dire circumstances that currently enveloped her family, most notably Henry, whom all agreed Regina would probably never _harm_ but whom the queen would make damn well sure no one else would ever be able to reach. In such cases as these, Prince Charming's unwavering optimism rarely improved her mood. "James," she started, placing her hands on his forearms as he reached for her. "And I _know_ you know this," she added as he wrapped his arms around her, "but we can't _just _rely on faith here—"

"I'm not," he replied quickly, staring down at her. "I know Emma…and I know _you_. So I know that no matter what happens," he continued, tightening his grip at her waist, preventing another objection he spotted forming on the tip of her tongue, "no matter how much _worse _things may get—" he paused then, and looked around. Snow's brow furrowed in confusion as she watched her prince pull away from her as if suddenly remembering an appointment or errand he needed to run. "I need to show you something," he said instead, and moved from her side.

"What?" she called after him, limping a few feet beyond her bed. "James we need to go—"

"I know, but it's something you need to see," he called back to her as, inexplicably, he pulled open her front closet and rummaged around behind some coats and beneath a bunch of excess blankets she usually stored there.

"What is it?" she asked.

At last, he pulled a square box from the great abyss of her closet, kicked the door shut behind him and walked it over to the couch. "Your Christmas present," he said with a grin.

Snow gaped. "My _Christmas _present?!" she exclaimed, now unable to mask her impatience. "Darling, we don't have time for—"

"On the contrary, I can't think of a better time," he countered, setting the box down on the couch. "In fact, we probably won't have another chance for quite _some _time so – " he gestured to the package. "Open it."

She stared at the brown packaging and then glanced back up out of the corner of her eye. "How did you even get it in here?"

He shrugged. "I had Emma hide it for me."

"In my _own _closet?"

He chuckled. "Curse or no, dear, _nothing's _changed about the way you stuff a closet."

Snow rolled her eyes, but couldn't very well argue. She stared back at the box and frowned again. Time certainly was a-wasting right now, and her husband always did pick rather strange times to turn sentimental on her…then again, it was never without good reason. Whatever was in that box, Snow knew, was something she needed to see. She looked up to see him standing patiently, a soft grin on his face, and at last she relented. In moments, she'd ripped off the packing tape and folded over the flaps to reveal a small silver hook peeking out from beneath a box full of packing peanuts. At first glance, it might have appeared to be a hanger of some sort, but Snow knew better and gasped when she saw it. Eyes instantly welling up, she gently clasped the small hook and lifted out a child's mobile from which hung a couple dozen very familiar crystal blue unicorns. "James," she whispered. Emma's mobile: the item responsible for bringing her husband back to this world. He had told her all about it of course – that night he'd walked into Gold's shop as David and emerged as Prince Charming. She knew they were both indebted to that which Geppetto had so intricately crafted for their little girl. Seeing it had restored James's memory which in turn restored hers. But Snow had never imagined that James would have gone back for it. There was no need. Nowhere to put it now. After all…it was meant for a room that was never used. "It's…" she croaked, swallowing thickly, the exquisite crystal clinking together as the individual unicorns settled at the ends of their strings. "It's—"

"It's a promise," James rasped, stepping closer and taking her free hand in his. She gazed up at him as a stray tear trickled down her cheek. He reached up with his other hand and brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. "A promise that someday, when this is all over…we'll have a place…a _reason _to hang it again."

Her stomach tightened, knotting together all the hopes and dreams her husband clearly shared as she looked back and forth between the mobile and her prince. There was so much…_too _much that needed to be done. So many hurdles left to jump, and yet – as always – amidst the most unlikely circumstances, James had managed to say exactly the right thing, at _exactly _the right time. They _would _make it through this…as a family. "James," she struggled, her breath hitching in her throat. But James took hold of the mobile himself and lifted his other hand from hers, wrapping his arm once more around her waist. "I said I'd always find you, Snow, and I always will. And the same goes for Henry, and Emma, and," he nodded to the mobile, "whoever else may come along. Because true love like ours Snow? It just. Doesn't. Lose."

Snow couldn't stand it any longer. She snaked her hand up around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, sealing his lips with a kiss as she feathered through the hair at his neckline.

James returned in kind, slanting his mouth more fully over hers and tilting her head to the side. Gently, he settled the mobile atop the packing peanuts, then cupped her cheek in his newly free hand, massaging the back of her neck with his fingers. She groaned in response, smoothed her hands down his chest and fisted bunches of his shirt to pull him closer, letting out a small gasp as he pressed her against him by the small of her back. "James," she breathed against his cheek, knowing full well they couldn't possibly take this as far as they both ached to. She drew back from him and peered up into his gaze. She longed to say something meaningful, something that would return the favor of the faith he kept renewing in her heart. But he'd said it all.

"You know," she said finally with a mischievous grin. "Christmas isn't for another three weeks."

"Darling…Since when do we do _anything _by the book?" he whispered and kissed her again.

…

In all the years she'd spent in Storybrooke, Belle could honestly say that she'd never seen such a sustained and lively level of merriment as that which now warmed the air of the dwarfs' old cottage. With all seven brethren successfully awakened and united under one roof, the place was alight with music and laughter and joy. Even Grumpy, who, as Belle heard often, behaved fairly true to his name, was grinning from ear to ear as he and Sleepy chatted wildly about what a 'hoot' it was to have hated each other so much as 'Leroy' and 'Walter'. Doc was busily preparing Dopey's first good hot meal in a long while, and Happy and Sneezy had set about making the cottage livable while Bashful played the heck out of their old organ. Whistling while they worked, the dwarfs had maximized every conceivable space in the place to make it more comfortable for future guests, pulling the remaining covers off of furniture, unwrapping silver and chinaware and setting the table for a traditional dwarf feast. The scene was one of sheer bliss and well deserved given the rather dull lives she knew most of them to have led. Happy especially, her trusted bookseller, could finally embody _his_ name, and indeed the only remaining point of contention between any of them had been a rather comical argument over whether or not to surprise Snow with the news of their awakening by jumping out of the bushes or hiding under the desks in her classroom.

Of course, these festivities would not last. Snow herself had just confirmed that on the phone. The cat was out of the bag up on the surface and everyone who might be in the slightest bit of danger was headed down to the caverns. She had luckily just gone up to grab some firewood when her phone rang. She doubted very much it would have gotten service in the caves. Heading back through the cottage now, and nodding to the dwarfs as she passed, she wished very much she could join in their joy, but there was one current inhabitant of the cottage very noticeably missing: her husband.

In just a few short hours, Adam had already grown restless and frustrated with the current state of affairs. Belle knew they couldn't keep a seasoned war veteran in one place for very long with so many of his friends in danger, but so far he seemed to at least accept (if not fully understand) that his presence in town would do more harm than good. Thankfully, when the dwarfs had returned with their seventh member, Grumpy had alerted them to a private back entrance which, they quickly discovered upon busting apart the barricaded doorway, led directly to another portion of caverns where they could finally _see _the underground grotto and waterfall they'd all been hearing. The space wasn't much bigger than the main sitting room of the cottage itself, but it provided a healthy retreat for the legendarily aloof prince, and it was seated upon a large stone slab overlooking the blue, dimly lit pool of the waterfall that Belle found her husband, chucking stones into the basin and watching the water ripple out to the edges. "It was getting a bit…crowded in there," he said, sensing her approach before he even turned around.

Belle smiled as she perched on the stone next to him. She plunged her hands into the cool, fresh water and dried them on an old apron of Snow's she'd found in a cupboard. "Not interested in a good ol' fashioned dwarf fiesta?" she teased.

He threw her a sideways glance. "Not interested in this world at all as a matter of fact."

She sighed and looked toward the waterfall. "I know there's much you haven't seen yet, my love—"

"There's not much I plan on seeing," he said tersely. "I have no use for a world that holds its royals captive and turns its worst villains into martyrs."

Belle drew her eyes sadly toward her prince and scooted a bit closer, knowing how frustrating last night had been for him, knowing how much of this world he would never understand. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but even if we don't get back to our world—"

"There's no 'if' Belle," he turned fully toward her, his eyes as blue as ever. "I can't believe more of an effort isn't being made to—"

"Adam, that's all _anyone _has been trying to do since being awakened." He shook his head and turned back to the waterfall. "You have to understand that while you've been awake all this time…we have not. To us, this is all still…new."

He continued to stare toward the basin, entranced by steady cadence of the ripples from the center. But eventually his shoulders dropped and he heaved a sigh. "I know…I'm…I'm sorry."

She covered his hand and squeezed, enjoining him to look her way. "And I promise, there _are _some things you will like about this new world."

He grunted, but managed a half-smile. "Such as?"

"Well," she beamed, placing both of her hands over his. "For starters, there are _thousands_ more books here."

At this, Adam grinned broadly, his wife's intense passion for literature never ceasing to enrapture him. "I suppose that's a start," he granted her. "And perhaps if the dwarfs ever make up their minds to go surprise Snow, you might get peace and quiet enough to _read _one," he mumbled, glancing back.

Belle shook her head. "I wouldn't count on that just yet, my dear. It's about to get even more crowded."

Adam straightened up. "What?"

"I just spoke with Snow on the phone. Something's happened up on the surface and they need to hide everyone who is suspected of knowing about the curse."

"In _that_ tiny cottage?" he pointed toward the hovel where the sounds of the waterfall weren't quite drowning out the irritating organ music blowing from within.

Belle sighed. It was certainly a change from the massive castle corridors her husband was used to. "We're just going to have to make do, Darling," she said, trying to keep her tone light.  
>But Adam shook his head, stood up and began to pace. "We shouldn't <em>have <em>to 'make do', Belle. We should be up there, taking back our kingdom. Not cowering down here like caged birds."

"Soon, my love," she tried patiently. "Soon."

"And _you _shouldn't be worrying about anything," he rounded on her, returning once more to her side. "You should be safe in your suite, attended by Madame Bouche and Mrs. Potts," he took her hand in his, stroking it gently.

Belle leaned toward him with a teasing grin. "And since when have I ever allowed anyone to _attend _to me?"

Adam sighed. "You know what I mean. It's not right for…I'm just worried that you—"

"This baby isn't due for another five months, Adam. I won't even start _showing _until January. And I'm not about to take a seat on the sidelines while the rest of you—"

"The sidelines?" he pulled back, puzzled.

Belle halted mid-sentence and then rolled her eyes. Of course he wouldn't know that. "It's…an expression – a reference to a game of sport here."

"Called 'Sidelines'?"

She grinned. "It's called football." She paused and then rose to her feet. "You'd like it actually."

Adam leaned back as she slowly sidled into him, coming to stand between his legs as he pulled her the rest of the way. "Oh really," he rumbled, a devilish smile curling into his lips.

"Absolutely," she grinned, walking her fingers up his chest and then looping her arms around his neck. Even sitting down, his eyes were level with hers. She leaned into him and pressed her forehead to his. "Eleven men lining up together on a field for the sole purpose of knocking down as many opponents as they possibly can."

Adam shivered beneath her touch as she pressed a kisses to his forehead, temples, and the corners of his eyes, and he felt a renewed resentment toward the seven singing and dancing idiots inside the cottage, eliminating all possibilities of privacy for a man who hadn't been with his wife in almost thirty years. "Sounds a lot like war," he rasped as his fingertips traced up her thighs and under her apron, smoothing along the blue gossamer scrubs she still wore from the hospital.

"Very similar, I imagine," she grinned, murmuring against his cheek.

"Fascinating," he said, securing a tight grip around her waist and crushing her to him. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss before she could make the final move. Belle's fingers tunneled right into his hair, playing with those long locks of his that almost shimmered silver under the blue lighting of the waterfall. He moaned and slanted his head to one side, cradling her into his right shoulder as he brought his other hand up to cup her cheek. Then he dipped her back against his arm and rose to his feet.

Belle gasped into the kiss as she felt herself nearly lifted off the ground, the tips of her sneakers barely touching the floor of the cave as her husband now towered over her. She supposed his dominating height always served well to intimidate his enemies in battle, but it did nothing but excite her as he lifted her into him. His lips parted hers, and he drank in the intoxicating taste of her as she allowed her tongue to explore the contours of his mouth before finally coming up for air. She whispered his name, holding his handsome face between her hands.

His deep blue eyes bore into hers as he drew one hand from her waist and smoothed his palm over her not-yet swollen belly. Suddenly, as if realizing all over again that she was, in fact, carrying their child, his eyes turned sad, and he looked down to where his hand hovered. "Darling," he murmured softly. "How have you borne it?"

"What?" she blinked, her brow creasing at the abrupt change of subject.

"Nearly thirty years?" he said softly. "With child?"

"Oh…" she stammered, her stomach tying instantly in knots. "Umm, well I only found out…" she twisted out of his grasp and took a few steps back toward the pool, "a few days ago."

Her withdrawal startled him, though he supposed it was not without good reason. Perhaps under the curse, people were more willing to accept the impossible? "Still, I'm sure just the past few days has been…well, confusing to say the least?" he asked, stepping towards her again.

"Effects of the curse I guess," she said quickly, turning back to him, though her hands were fidgeting. Why did he have to go and bring this up _now_?

Every muscle in Adam's body tensed as he perceived the tension taking over his beloved. Something about his wife now was most definitely…off. "You mean in all that time, you never once wondered…I mean, you never thought it odd that—"

She gulped. _Not really, _she thought to herself…_hating_ herself. _I assumed the child was Gaston's! _"Well, I—"

"Belle!" they heard, and both whirled around to see the wisest (and thankfully the most tactful) of the dwarfs standing in the back doorway.

"What is it Doc?" Belle asked as Adam huffed and turned away.

"We'd better get going if you want to be back here by dark." Adam looked up again as Belle nodded and Doc disappeared.

"Where are you going?" demanded the prince, unfolding his arms.

Belle sighed. "To get my father," she explained. "His health is already fragile, and I don't want the added worry of my absence to cause further stress. Plus," she looked away, all the worry now coming back to her as the warm, passionate echoes of their embrace retreated completely from her heart. "With so many of us exposed, I'm worried for his safety."  
>"Does he…" Adam frowned as he too remembered the frail but kindly Maurice. "Will he know me?"<p>

"I hope so, in time."

Adam shook his head. "I don't want you to go alone."

"I'm not. Doc will lead me back through the woods—"

"That is not what I mean—"

"I know what you mean, and you know that it's impossible. You're a wanted criminal up there—"

"And you, my accomplice. So what?"

"Adam!" Belle shouted, clenching her fists tightly by her side as she took a deep breath. "I know that there is much here that frustrates you. I know you don't…do well standing still. But you must trust me."

The sounds of the rushing waterfall behind them seemed amplified now in the wake of this new wall between them. On the one hand, it was wonderful to see that his Belle had not lost her strength, would not hesitate to put him in his proper place or stand her ground. On the other hand…"How can you ask that of me when I know there's something you're hiding," he asked soberly.

And this time, Belle had to look away. She stared into the blue basin, wrapping her arms around her middle. "What makes you say that?"

"It's still_ me, _Belle," his low voice rumbled again as he came up behind her. "I can sense your fear even if we're miles apart. What are you afraid to tell me?"

Belle closed her eyes and shook her head. She couldn't tell him. Not now anyway. She understood that her relationship with Gaston here had been an effect of the curse, that as a weaker version of herself, 'Rose' caved to temptation and gave up all hope of finding true happiness. She knew also that keeping it from Adam was a burden she couldn't possibly bear much longer. Her betrayal of him was eating her alive and she knew he deserved to know. And yet…

"Belle," he murmured behind her and she tensed as his hands closed around her shoulders.

With a deep sigh, she turned to meet his penetrating gaze. "You're right," she whispered, taking his hands in hers and holding them at her sides. "There is something I'm not telling you. And it does scare me to think of confessing it." She saw his eyes flood with worry, with hints of anger and fear, but she pressed on; for though she knew that confessing the truth would make _her _feel better, telling him now_,_ just as she was about to jet up to the surface, wasn't right, and wasn't fair. He deserved to know…at the right time, in the right way. "I'm asking you though, as my dearest friend. Please don't force me to reveal it now. I assure you—" she added quickly— "it's not life threatening, and I'm not in any danger. But I need to see to my father now. Then I'll return, and I _promise _I will tell you everything."

Remnants of a beast that had been boiling to the surface eased back down as he read the hurt, the loss in her eyes. He was right. There _was _something terribly wrong. And though the confirmation of it once might have prompted the war lord to demand a full confession here and now, he respected his beloved bookworm too much to object. "Very well," he said as he lifted a hand and curled his fingers into her soft, brown hair. "Be careful." He looked down to her womb and squeezed her other hand. "For all of us."

…

80 hours. 80 hours to complete his fieldwork and then he could apply to the board to enter the process of becoming a certified M.D. It's not as if Trent Davis disliked being a medic. And he'd certainly enjoyed putting out the occasional dumpster fire in Storybrooke with Clancy this past year. But for as long as he could remember, he'd felt called to something different. Something that would put him in contact with more of the community than just those in a state of dire emergency. So when he'd begun the necessary coursework to complete his degree, he knew he'd made the right decision. He'd felt it was the right thing to do. The service hours available to him at Storybrooke General combined with his paramedic experience were the perfect training grounds to satisfy his ambitions. He'd had the next ten years of his life completely planned out. He'd accounted for everything…everything, except for her.

When Trent Davis first laid eyes on Dawn Charles, all those years ago now – when, exactly, he couldn't quite say now– he was completing his first round of fieldwork for his degree. Dawn was in her first year of nursing at SG Hospital and the two of them had shared an almost instant connection. Over the next four years, Trent had lost count of how many cases they'd consulted on, late night pizza runs they'd done for each other and how many times they always seemed to cross paths in town. But as often as they bumped into each other, Trent never could muster up the guts to, as Matt confirmed this morning, make a move. Something prevented him. Something he could never quite explain. It wasn't as if they were awkward with each other. They always had plenty to chat about. But regardless of how much Clancy pestered him, regardless of the way his throat constricted and his heart pounded out of his chest whenever she was around, Trent never could quite find the words to ask Dawn for a real date.

"Davis!" came her sweet, pleasant twang as he approached the nurses' station. He took a deep breath as he laid eyes on her, looking beautiful as ever with her blonde hair pulled back in a half pony-tail and pale blue scrubs decked out with Christmas beads and office flair. "Long time no see," she teased.

He smiled, tossing his canvas bag on the counter. "Well you know, tryin' to finish up those hours."

"You have to be getting close by now," she said, glancing down at a pile of charts in her hand and then looking back up. "How many do you have?"

"Oh, I think I'm uh…" he cleared his throat, "you know, gettin' close. Need an extra pair of hands today?"

"As a matter-a-fact," she let out a slightly satirical laugh, "we're a little short on doctors at the moment, so yeah. We could absolutely use the help."

"Whadya mean?"

Dawn looked around then gestured toward the locker room as the two headed away from the station. "You haven't heard? Jeez, news like this usually flies through Storybrooke. Sydney Glass left here hours ago."

"What happened?"

"Dr. Fisk was attacked by one of his patients last night."

"What?!" Trent nearly dropped his bag to the floor. "No!"

"Mmm-hmm. Adam Black. Broke out of his restraints, found Fisk in Sean Herman's room. Nearly pummeled him to death."

"Jesus," Trent blew out a sigh. "Who stopped him?"

"No one knows. The guy escaped right after. The fight actually woke Sean from his coma though. Maybe that threw him enough to run off."

"Wow," he ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"Yeah and to top it off, no one's seen Dr. Stone since early rounds," she continued as they pushed through the doors to the locker room which also doubled as a small coffee and break area. "He came in, saw a few patients, disappeared into his office and no one's seen him since."

"Holy sh—" he cleared his throat as the ever-watchful matron of the nurses' station, Maeve, breezed through the door and headed straight to for the coffee maker— "'smokes," he caught himself. Dawn wriggled her nose and winked. "Anything else?" Trent asked as he removed his firehouse polo and exchanged it for the top portion of a set of spare hospital scrubs hanging in an extra locker.

Dawn caught her breath as she watched him change but turned her head away in time before he could catch her blush. "Besides the usual chills and runny noses that follow the Storybrooke Tree Lighting festival?" she grinned, slapping a few charts in his hands. "Nah. You can join me on my rounds and if we get into anything tricky, we'll page an attending."

Trent smiled as he pulled on a lab coat. "Sounds like a plan."

The two continued to make small talk as they usually did, becoming an effective team as Dawn walked him through the entire floor of patients which today consisted of two fractured wrists, a violent flu bug and a little girl with a slight fever and a nasty cough. Dawn watched, enraptured by the medic, as he eased the girl's fear of hospitals and stethoscopes with a rousing chorus of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.' As the girl finally allowed him near enough to listen to her lungs and take a throat culture, something familiar tugged at Dawn's own heart – almost as if she'd seen him do this before. This scene was definitely not new, she realized as she studied the girl's face, wondering if they'd treated her in the past. But for the life of her, nothing clicked.

"Here's the throat culture for the little Webster girl, Charles," said Dr. Paulsen a few hours later when she and Trent were back at the desk. Paulsen handed Dawn a stack of test results that he'd signed off on but Trent had really recommended. "Looks like you were right, Davis. It's a bad strain of strep."

Dawn smiled and glanced up at Trent. "Good catch, _Doctor_ Davis," she said as the two headed for the child's exam room.

Trent shrugged, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. "Not a doctor yet."

But she shook her head as she scanned the chart. "Good enough for me. That didn't present _at all _like strep."

"I had a hunch."

The two spoke briefly with Alice Webster's mother and handed the woman a prescription. After following up with a few more patients, they returned to the nurses' station where Maeve had just gone on break. "You're very good at all this, you know," he told her as she started straightening up Maeve's messy work space.

"So are you," she said as he came around the counter and hopped up on the desktop beside her. "You were great with that little girl."

Trent glanced down the hallway, a small crease in his brow. "Yeah, I dunno. There was just something…familiar about her."

Dawn jolted up. "There was?"

"Yeah," he glanced down and started at the intense look in her eyes. "Yeah why?"

"I dunno I just…I thought so too. She…" she trailed off, looking between Trent and the corridor. But the sensation soon ebbed away and she shook her head. "Maybe I've just nursed so many little girls back to health here, they're all starting to look the same."

Trent chuckled nervously, gulping down a lump in his throat as she continued to move lithely about the station. "You know um…I've gotta be headed to the firehouse soon."

"Aww," she turned toward him with an exaggerated pout. "Off to save more lives?"

He rolled his eyes, "More likely off to play solitaire." She laughed outright, her hazel eyes twinkling as she finally plopped down on Maeve's chair and rolled over to him, resting her hands right beside his thigh. "But I was wondering," he swallowed hard, chest constricting as it always did when she got this close to him. Clancy's taunts echoed loudly in his head. Why _didn't _he just go for it? Why _didn't _he ever make a move? She clearly enjoyed his company. They'd spent a great morning together. _When are you just gonna come out and admit it, Davis…You're crazy about her. Always have been…_ He cleared his throat. "If you get off early here, you think you might—"

"Davis!" someone called boisterously down the hallway and both whirled in shock as, sonuvagun, Matt Clancy himself came barreling toward the desk.

Trent's eyes might as well have bulged out of his sockets. "Clancy, what the hell—"

"Matt?"

"Hey Dawn," Matt hastened a greeting as Trent came around the desk to meet him. "I need to talk to you."

Abruptly, Matt grabbed hold of Trent's collar and yanked him toward an empty corridor. "Matt, what the f—"

"Listen, I need you to cover for me with Chief," said the firefighter, as he glanced up at the clock on the wall.

"With chief?"

"Yeah, I already got Rossy to cover my shift, but Chief is convinced I'm just fighting another hangover, so he's probably gonna ask you today when you get in. I told him you could vouch for me getting sick last night at the tree lighting."

"I didn't _go _to the tree lighting ya freak," Trent huffed and yanked his arm out of his partner's frenzied grasp.

"Yeah, but Chief doesn't know that."

"And you're _not _sick. What the hell's gotten into you?"

Matt shot a look at the desk to where Nurse Charles was glaring, quite perplexed at the two of them. Matt lowered his voice and turned back to Trent. "You know how the new deputy came to see us yesterday? Asking us all those questions about the Sean Herman case?"

"Yeah—"

"I saw her this morning, man. Right after I ran into you. She was—" he paused. How much exactly, should he tell? He trusted Trent implicitly, but the guy was much more of a Boy Scout than he was. And Matt could barely believe _he'd _even let her go this morning. "She…fought with the mayor."

Trent's eyebrows darted down. Had Clancy completely flipped his lid? _Lots _of people in this town argued with the mayor. Nothing ever came of it. "Umm….ok? Sooo…w-why do we care—"

"Look, I know you're not gonna believe me, but I think it's all related."

"_What's_ all related?!" Trent hissed, looking back toward Dawn. _Christ, she probably thinks _I'm_ crazy too_.

"Everything. Emma Swan, the case with Sean, that 911 call—"

"Ah, hell Clancy. Not the goddamn 911 call again—"

"Yeah yeah, like I said. You don't believe me, and that's fine." Matt waved him off impatiently, "I got a feeling anyway, all right? And I need to check some things out. So please, just cover for me?" Trent sighed and shook his head toward the ceiling. "Davis," Matt gave his shoulders a shake. "Come on."

Trent threw his hands up in the air. "Fine."

"Beautiful," Matt gave him another nod and then dragged him back to the desk. "Dawn," he said, turning his attention on the now rather perturbed nurse. "What room is that kid in?"

"The kid?" she crossed her arms.

"Sean Herman. The kid we brought in the other night? Where is he?"

Dawn looked over to Trent who shrugged and rolled his eyes behind Matt's back, mouthing 'I don't know'. "He was discharged a few hours ago," Dawn replied. "His father took him home."

Matt slapped his hand down on the station counter. "Damn," he muttered. "Ah well, he probably can't tell me much anyway. All right, you two take care and—" he glanced up at Dawn again…and froze.

Dawn jerked back under his gaze. "What?"

But Matt shook his head, transfixed by her face. Something…something wasn't…did she look…different? He looked over to Trent and started again. _He _looked different too. What the f—

"Clancy?" Trent nearly bellowed, totally flummoxed by his erratic behavior. Should they admit _him _to the psych ward in Adam Black's place?

Matt meanwhile juddered his gaze between Dawn and Trent, and then back to Dawn again. Why did she seem so…familiar? No, familiar wasn't the word. He's known Dawn for years; it wasn't that. But then again, he felt strangely like he was looking at someone he hadn't seen in ages. A childhood friend from decades past. "Did you…" he scrambled for something that made sense. Something that wouldn't sound crazy. "Did you…change your hair?"

Dawn's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she grinned brightly. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "It's a bit shorter, actually."

Trent snapped his gaze in her direction and gaped. _Son of a bitch!_ Her hair _was _different. Why hadn't _he _noticed that?!

Matt looked again between the nurse and the medic, still not convinced, but couldn't think of any other explanation. "Yeah…y-yeah that must be it." He shrugged at last and then tapped the counter once more. "Well, it looks good," he said briskly and then turned and sped back down the corridor. "See you guys later." Then he was gone.

"Wow," said Dawn, staring down the hallway. "Matt Clancy noticed something _above _my shoulders. Who'd've thought huh?" she chuckled and looked over at Trent. But he was glaring down the hallway too, a strange faraway look in his eyes. "Trent?" she said quietly, reaching up to touch his hand, but he pulled it away.

"Yeah," he said lamely. "Yeah who'd've thought."

Dawn chewed her bottom lip. "Anyway umm…" she glanced up, still hopeful. "You were…saying?"

"Huh?" Trent looked down and Dawn could already tell the moment had passed.

"You were asking me something," she reminded him but couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice.

"Oh right um, I was just uh…" he sighed and shook his head. Who was he kidding? One look from Clancy and her mind was probably a million miles away. "T-try to get off early tonight. I hear it's supposed to uh…snow real hard." And with that, Trent turned and trudged toward the locker room, feeling about four feet tall.

…

When Emma first arrived at Gold's shop, she intended to slip in, get the information she came for, and slip out as quickly as possible. After all, there was quite a lot to be done in Operation Cobra _after _shesaved Henry and she didn't have time to dawdle. But when she pulled her yellow buggy up to the curb and saw Graham pull up moments after her and pop out the driver's side of the sheriff car, she knew that plan was moot. No way was Graham going to let her go in there alone. She had a feeling a huntsman's loyalty was as unbreakable a bond as blood.

Impatiently, Emma stalked over to him and opened her mouth to speak when the passenger door opened as well and Shane Pilfer got out the other side. "Shane?" Emma gaped. She turned to Graham. "What're you guys doing here?"

"Followin' a lead, as I suspect you are," Graham responded, nodding toward the door of Gold's shop.

She looked between the two men, Shane eyeing her warily as both recalled what had been spoken between them yesterday. Shane looked away first and things better left unsaid remained that way.

"What kind of lead?" Emma muttered, stepping over to Graham and hopefully out of Shane's earshot. The newly freed jailbird slumped over to the pawn shop window and leaned against the siding, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking aloof.

"I got Thomas to exonerate 'im this mornin'," Graham explained in hushed tones. "Was able to get 'im talkin'. He thinks that Gold will know where to find a bloke named John Foulfellow."

"Foulfellow?"

Graham nodded. "Fellow I met last night at Regina's when I went to tell her about Adam's escape," he went on. "But I recognized 'im from _before_. I think he can lead us to the place they took me last week. The place they took the Zimmers."

Emma gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. "Of course!" she hissed, looking over to Shane and then back again. "Where they took the Zimmers! That's probably where she put Henry too."

"Henry?!" Graham exclaimed, as Shane's eyes lifted toward their conversation.

"Yeah, Henry," Emma lowered her voice through gritted teeth. "He's missing."

"Oh Emma—" Graham started to reach for her, but Emma pulled back.

Of all the people in Storybrooke, Graham was most definitely a person she didn't want to touch right now. She'd read too much, knew too much, _felt _too much around him, and she wanted her head to be as clear as possible when she touched Gold. "As of this morning," she hugged herself around the middle, shivering against the cold. "And I'm betting Gold knows where."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because Gold knows everything," shouted Shane from across the sidewalk, arms still folded, expression still spacy. But it was clear he'd heard every word.

"Excuse me?" Emma came around the car, crossing her arms and clutching at her parka.

"Shane, did you—"

"Look, I'm not even gonna _ask_ what the hell it is you two are talking about, and I sure as hell don't wanna get into whatever it is _you've_ got going on with the mayor," Shane's eyes narrowed toward Graham, "but if there's a kid missing – " he paused and glanced at Emma, a strange sort of truce in his eyes – "then you can bet your ass Gold had something to do with it."

Emma held his gaze for a few moments, then looked over to Graham with a fresh glint in her eye. The delinquent's response all but confirmed she'd come to the right place, and without another word, she marched past them and pushed through the door.

The men followed close behind and, once inside, started inching up the aisles, making their way to the counter. Gold was not in sight, but the shop was open, according to the sign. "Gold?" Graham called out to the empty room. Shane followed at his heels, looking at the wealth of treasures stored on pegs and behind glass.

"Well well, this is a delightful crew," came a smarmy voice as Gold appeared from behind the cloth covering of his back storeroom. "Sheriff? Deputy? And my word, is that Shane Pilfer?" he pointed his cane to the man in question. "_Not _in handcuffs today my boy?"

"Can it Gold," said Emma. "We need information."

"How's that little artifact I gave you?" Gold asked Shane, pointedly ignoring her. "Found any use for it yet?"

Both Graham and Emma turned to glare at a flummoxed Shane. "_He _gave it to you?" Graham barked. Shane looked away.

"Gave 'im what?"

"Some old lamp," Graham shook his head.

Emma almost choked. "A _lamp_?!" she cried, turning to Shane. "He gave _you _a _lamp_?" But Shane had gone strangely silent. She looked between them, back and forth, hoping somehow that the sheriff might catch on to her meaning, but Graham seemed oblivious.

Gold however, didn't miss a beat. "My my, it seems the deputy has been doing her homework," he crooned. "Perhaps I should have given it to _you_. I hear wondrous things happen when you touch certain…trinkets from the past."

"All right enough. Look," Emma held up her hand, glaring at Shane, but then refocusing on Gold. "First thing's first, I know about the curse and _you_ know about the curse, so we can all just drop the act and get down to business."

Gold gave her a rather formal bow. "Agreed."

She glanced again at Shane whose total lack awareness in the curse was undoubtedly making him anxious. Emma was banking on _Aladdin's_ natural curiosity to keep him here even if 'Shane' didn't remember. But either way, it didn't matter; she had more to worry about than a street rat's frame of mind. "Where is Henry?" she asked.

Gold shrugged. "At school I imagine."

"Seriously?" Emma slammed her hand on the glass counter. "You think I'd be here asking if he was at _school_?"

"Obviously not," was the old man's retort, "though I can't imagine why you'd think _I _have any idea where—"

"Because you know everything goin' on in this hellhole, Gold," spat Shane, turning his anxiety on the shopkeeper, suddenly eager to join in this strange little soirée if it meant ganging up on Rupert Gold. "And a missing kid?" Shane glanced sideways at Emma, "That's got your name written all over it."

Gold, undaunted by the accusation, merely shook his head at the olive-skinned punk and tsked. "Alas, I fear I must disappoint you."

But Emma's newfound discovery this morning had given her fresh confidence in her 'superpower'. "You're lying," she said with certainty.

"Indeed not, Miss Swan. I'm afraid I can't _tell_ you where your boy might be."

"That's all right," she ripped off her leather glove and stalked around to the seller's side of the counter. "You won't have to!" And before Gold could react, Emma's hand clamped down on his wrist and immediately, the room dissolved around her . _Yes! _She thought as she traversed her vortex, twisting back through time. With each trip, she was growing more accustomed to the nauseating vertigo of the visions. She could control them a little better now, she thought. After all, she'd initiated this one purposefully. Soon she would see Henry. She would get a fix on his location, a clue that would lead her straight to him and—

But to Emma's excruciating dismay, the vision landed her not in some secret cell or dungeon of Regina's but into her own past. In fact, into her _own _cell…almost 11 years ago. At the Flamenco Health Care Center in Arizona's Correctional Facility for Women. In absolute horror, she watched as vaguely familiar nurses and staff doctors bustled around a teenage Emma…in labor with little Henry.

"It's all right Emma. Breathe, just breathe," said that one corpulent red-head whose breath, Emma remembered, smelled like rotting paint. The woman's clammy fingers gripped young Emma's wrist while she did a failed imitation of a perky, sitcom Lamaze coach. Emma almost had to look away; this memory was all too familiar, too painful. And she already knew how it ended. As soon as Henry was born, she'd begged the nurses to take him away. Emma never even saw her baby boy.

"Son of a bitch!" muttered Vision-Emma as teenage-Emma shrieked in pain. Even in a vision – evenin _her _vision, Gold could manipulate the rules?

"It hurts!" cried young Emma as she shoved the red-headed nurse against the wall. "Get the fuck away from me!" Emma couldn't help but snort at the sight. Boy, she'd had a mean right hook back in her day.

"It's all right Miss Swan," said the balding doctor with the really bad goatee. "It's almost over."

"Get 'im out," moaned the young inmate. "I just want 'im out!" Forced into the role of spectator, Emma couldn't help but notice the stark differences between the pregnant teen on this exam table…and the dark-haired beauty in the Charmings' bedchamber whose bravery had saved them all. _Damn you, Rumpelstiltskin_, she thought as she watched her younger self kicking and screaming at the facility's medical staff. After all, she'd initiated this vision to find out about Henry and all she'd gotten instead was more evidence that she would never_…ever_ live up to her mother.

Dragged away almost as soon as it had begun, Emma was wrenched upward and slammed into the present, staggering a few feet away from Mr. Gold and appearing quite unhinged to the rest of the room.

Shane and Graham openly gaped, both wondering what the hell grabbing his wrist was supposed to have accomplished. But Gold…Gold's brow furrowed. He stared at his wrist…then at Emma's hand…then Emma's face…and then smiled. "Well. Well. Well," he said in that eerie, slippery voice of his. "This _is _an interesting development. Could our own Deputy Swan be…a Seer?"

Graham openly gasped. Shane chose to keep his own mouth shut.

"What'd you see, Princess?" taunted the shopkeeper. "Somethin' scary?"

Emma was thoroughly nonplussed. Instinctively, she thrust her arm forward to try again, but Gold yanked his hand back with reflexes far shaper than those of a limping old man's. Instead, he shot his cane out in front of him like a sword, and wagged his index finger at her breathless form.

"Ah, ah, ah," he quipped. "I think you've seen enough of the Dark One's past for today, don't you?"

Finally, Emma managed to catch her breath and took a giant gulp, steadying herself against the counter for support. "I know you know something, Gold," she said laboriously, though her voice lacked conviction. She didn't know _anything _anymore. Her faith in her 'brilliant' plan was shot. In its place – fear. Terror. Why in the hell hadn't she seen anything? Why hadn't her visions taken her at _least _to somewhere in Gold's past like they did everyone else's. What good did it do her to see Henry's birth? It didn't make _any _sense! "Where…" she wheezed, "where did Regina take him?"

"That's the problem being a Seer isn't it?" Gold snickered, again ignoring her question as he drew the top of his cane back up to his nose and pointedly picked at a trifling smudge on its handle. "Don't always see what you want to see, eh?"

"Emma," Graham said, nervously. "I think we should—"

"I'm serious Gold!" Emma launched herself up again. "He's just a kid! I _need _to find him. Just tell me—"

"Wrong!" he yelled, though he somehow kept his tone as cool and calm as usual. "What you _need _is to fulfill your destiny."

"Hey, lay off—" Shane stepped forward, suddenly moved by the young mother's desperate plea.

"Stay out of this, _street rat_," Gold seethed at the boy who was so stunned by the familiar sounding moniker that he actually shrank behind Graham. Gold turned back to Emma. "You hero types are all alike," he shook his head. "Takes you simply _forever _to realize that it's not about _you_."

"Me?!" Emma cried. "This is about _Henry!_"

"Wrong! _This—_" he waved his hand up and down her form in obvious disgust, "is about _you!" _he seethed. "_You _have to find Henry. _You _have to save him. Henry is right where he _needs_ to be at _precisely_ the moment he needs to be there."

"What the hell does that mean—"

"It _means_ that Henry has a destiny just as you have. And believe me, the boy has understood _that _far longer than any of you. So you'd better catch up Miss Swan, because you're running out of time. Do you truly think your little interlude with the queen this morning won't have repercussions?"

Emma gasped and dropped her jaw to the floor. "H-how do you know about that?" she asked, trying to keep it together. But there was, yet again, too much information just haphazardly shoved into her brain. Henryhas a destiny? Henry is right where he—

"Know about what?" Graham lunged for the counter. "_What _interlude with the queen?"

She started over at the sheriff, observing the panic in his eyes, and realized all at once what this might mean for _him_. "Oh God," she mumbled, feeling sick to her stomach. "Graham I—"

"Oh she didn't tell you, I see." Gold clunked his cane along the floor and started a slow stroll around his counter. "It's really a pity sheriff," he shook his head sadly. "I was starting to like you."

Emma was about to reply when Graham suddenly cried out in pain and clutched his chest.

"Emma!" he yelped as she and Shane fell to his side.

"Graham?" Emma threw his arm over her shoulder and braced his weight against the glass casing. "Graham what is it, what's happening?"

Graham started wheezing in sharp, labored breaths, a ghostly expression steeling across his face.

"What's happening to him?!" demanded Shane, supporting the sheriff from the other side.

"It's her," Graham rasped, looking up at Emma as he sank to the floor. "She's…she's got hold of me."

"What?" Emma cried.

"What's he talking about?!" blustered Shane.

But Graham stared only at Emma. "Here," he whispered, holding his hand up before her, an offering – a gift. "See for yourself."

Emma's eyes widened, peering into his gray gaze. He nodded, giving her permission. If she was indeed a Seer, he had nothing to fear. Emma took a deep breath and clasped her hand in his. Immediately a vision swirled before her and she saw Regina, still dressed as she had been this morning coming out of the courthouse. Only she wasn't in the courthouse now. She wasn't anywhere close. There were shadows surrounding her, faint silhouettes of people she did not recognize. But the gold-plated drawers behind her? _Those _she recognized. The golden vault. The hundreds of storage boxes she'd seen drawn in Henry's book now live before her eyes. And in the queen's hand…was a glowing, beating heart. The vision ended and Graham slumped limply against her.

"No no nonono, you stay with me Graham, you hear?" she commanded, shoving her hip against his and forcing him to his feet. "This isn't over, you hear me? Hey—" she barked at Shane. "You stay with him, got it?" she ordered and Shane immediately shouldered the bulk of the weight.

"What can we do?" she demanded of the imp, stalking over to him and bunching his collar in her fist. "How do we stop this?"

"This?" Gold gestured carelessly toward the suffering sheriff. "I'm afraid only the queen can stop _that_," he chuckled.

"Enough with cryptic, maniacal laughing bullshit, all right?" she shook him violently. "Just give me a straight answer!"

"I already did, dearie," Gold maintained his smooth, steady tone despite her vice-like grip around his neck. "Fulfill your destiny."

"Emma," Graham coughed behind her. She turned and saw Shane helping him fully to his feet. He was still panting but wasn't any longer clutching his chest.

"Hey," she rushed over to him, looping her arm through his as she and Shane steadied him against the counter. "You're all right?"

"What the hell, man! You havin' a heart attack?" Shane gave him a few pats on the back. Emma glared up at him and shook her head.

"No, I'm…I'm fine," Graham said shakily. "I mean, I'm…I'm ok _now_…I think." He rubbed his chest, as if testing it. But the sharp, searing pain that had gripped his whole body just moments before was nothing more than a faint echo.

"I saw her though," Emma hissed. "I saw her with your heart."

Graham nodded. "I know. That's what it feels like when she does that."

"What, like a heart attack?"

"Like I'm being crushed to death…from the inside."

Emma shuddered as if someone walked over her grave. She glanced up at Shane who was staring at both of them, slack-jawed and perplexed. But he didn't dare interrupt. "So…s-so what does that mean?" she looked back at Graham.

"It means Gold's right," Graham stared up at the Dark One who stood in front of them now, leaning thoughtfully on his cane. "We're running out of time."

Emma followed his gaze, stared too at the seemingly omniscient imp, and sighed. The dealmaker was right…as usual. This was about more than just Henry. Much more. And she couldn't afford to ignore it any longer. "All right Gold," she said quietly. She spun on her heel and faced him. "I'm listening."

"Splendid," said Gold as he gestured with his cane toward his back room. "Shall we?"

…

*****And my tradition of FINALLY getting the chance to sit down and update only around the holidays continues as I stop here for now and wish you all blessings for whatever Holiday in December you may be celebrating, and good tidings for a wonderful New Year. There will be a very BRIEF break however, between this and the next chapter as it is already fairly well underway and I intend to keep working on it through the night, but this one was getting long, and I didn't want you to be feeling like Emma right now – she's about to learn a WHOLE lot more about her destiny…and she's taking Graham and Shane along for the ride.**

**Stay tuned to what Gold has in store for her in the back storeroom as well as another Al and Jas flashback I've been saving for a rainy day. And who knows, we may see more of Clancy too before the queen unleashes her next villainous plan. **

**Thanks as usual to all my regulars and welcome to all newcomers. If you're at the end of this and still unsatisfied, check out "A Mermaid's Tale" by sgcycle. REALLY creative take on the Little Mermaid, and a very fast read.**

**Ciao!**

**-Nikstlitslepmur*****


	36. Questions Answered

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

*****Ok, so I usually don't do notes BEFORE the chapter, but I wanted to warn you, this chapter is PACKED and LONG and makes reference to a LOT of unanswered questions throughout the entire story (hence the title). I considered publishing it in two parts, actually, but found that there wasn't really a good place to cut it without leaving too many things hanging. As it is there are enough "cliffy" moments already, so I wanted to give you as much as I had (especially since my winter break is ending Sunday and this is likely my last update at least for a little while). **

**I will also just add, that while some things that happen here will undoubtedly make you uneasy, I ask that you trust in the characters you've come to love, and my own love for them as well. Ok, that's the only hint I'm giving. Have fun and good luck!*****

**Questions Answered**

The snow started falling late that morning, just minutes before the clock tower struck noon. In a town that usually rejoiced at the first snow fall and whose children's eyes twinkled at thoughts of warm cocoa and snow days, the snow today fell almost as an afterthought, like it was apologizing for its tardiness, knowing it might have been much more welcome yesterday during the tree lighting. As it was, Matt Clancy didn't even give it a second thought as he rushed through the sliding doors of Storybrooke General and headed back out into the cold. That the thick, white flakes swirling heavily around him did not for a second deter the paramedic as he headed to the center of town to find out what he could about Emma Swan. After leaving his partner and Nurse Charles probably more confused than he'd intended, Matt didn't even notice the mysterious figure heading in as he walked out. He was, after all, just as determined, it seemed…as she.

Circe recognized the town's "hunky" fireman almost as soon as he'd barreled by her, and though a part of her mission today was certainly to ensure that his was a fate marred by their counter attack, the ex-goddess was in no hurry to catch the man himself. King Philip had never interested her – far too cocky and not terribly strong. No, she had _her_ champion already. And soon he would come to her of his own accord. In the meantime, her task today would be far more enjoyable – charged with taking something much more valuable than a life. And really, what better place to be assigned than that which had foolishly allowed her beloved to slip through its fingers? Circe had no problem accepting this post from Regina for the siege. After all – these were the incompetent, lowly beings who had let _him_ get away…and they deserved to pay.

…

Emma, Shane and Graham followed Gold to the storage area behind the counter, lit by four glaring florescent lights that cast strange shadows over the room. The walls were lined with shelves, much less fancy than those out front which displayed the items for sale. In the center of the small room stood a wooden table on which was laid a curious looking map. The map looked to be drawn on ancient parchment and depicted three rather large, amorphous land masses, each marked with a strange collection of icons resembling coats of arms. "Your kingdom, my dear," Gold gallantly swept his arm over the map, "or rather yours and," he glanced over at Shane, "several others."

But Shane was not paying attention. He had not yet seen the table or most of the room, in fact, for his eyes had fallen upon a small cloth case laying on top of a rather elaborate dollhouse. Both were tucked in the corner just inside the storage room – the dollhouse because it wouldn't have fit anywhere else, the cloth case looking mostly to have been tossed there as an afterthought. "What is this?" Shane asked thickly.

All turned and watched as he lifted it gingerly from the dollhouse roof, handling it as one might handle a child, and brought it around to show Gold. The pawn broker's eyes brightened, but he didn't reply. Shane's mind instead filled with whispers, strange voices he knew hadn't originated from those gathered. He glanced around, looking up at the tall shelves and other items as he strained to listen, to make out the quiet echoes that seemed to emanate from the crooks and crannies of the room… _"Still dropping your shoulder I see"…"Don't want you to outlive your usefulness"…_

"Shane?" Emma cast him a worried glance, but he seemed still adrift.

"_Today's lesson is…a little different"…"New weapons?"…"Not exactly"_

"Shane, what is it?" Graham tried. Gold remained silent.

"_Why…didn't you tell me?" _a woman's voice, one so achingly familiar, asked in a faded whisper…"_You never asked"…_

"Shane!" Emma stood before him now, grabbing hold of his shoulders and giving him a shake.

Shane's eyes finally refocused and he gave Gold a wary glance. "What _is _this?" he asked again, hoarsely.

Gold nodded to the case the boy was now clutching to his breast. "Why don't you open it and find out, lad."

The thief's hands trembled at its leather buckles, practically moving on their own. He felt instantly, inexplicably attached to the case, as if the Holy Grail itself had just fallen in his lap. On the other hand, he grew acutely aware that all eyes were on him now, and he wasn't keen on being the center of attention in _this _peculiar company. Besides, seeing Graham keel over like that, seeing such genuine pain and agony invoked by a seemingly invisible adversary had convinced him to pay attention. He'd seen a lot of strange shit down in West End and he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to see someone explain it all. "I'll uh…" he cleared his throat, now seeing the map in the center. "I'll wait, thanks," he mumbled, tucking the case protectively under his arm.

Gold gave him a slight bow and returned to the table. "Do you have any idea what you're lookin' at, dearie?"

"You just told me," Emma muttered, "a map of the…_our_ kingdoms."

Gold nodded. "Or more accurately, a map of our realms."

"All three?" asked Graham prompting Emma to shoot him a look.

Gold nodded again. "All three. As they were just before the curse struck. "And this…" he gave his hand another wave, and a bird's eye view of Storybrooke shimmered into view.

"Whoa!" Emma jumped back as the holographic-looking image took shape. "How are you doing that?" she snapped.

"Why, I have you to thank for it, Miss Swan," Gold tsked, guiding the 3D overlay of Storybrooke over the map of the realms. "The more happy endings you restore, the more parlor tricks I can do."

Graham crossed his arms over his chest with a grunt. "Perfect."

"As you can see, Storybrooke is quite smaller than the realms of the old world. It's part of the reason everyone is so miserable here," he explained as Emma, Graham and even Shane watched the entire town of Storybrooke almost fit inside just one of the three land masses. "Regina crammed everyone in here so tightly, people barely have room to breathe."

"Yeah but this doesn't include the whole forest, or Jefferson's mansion," Emma leaned over, pointing to where the edges of Gold's Storybrooke projection abruptly cut off everything she knew lay beyond the toll bridge.

"Quite right, dearie," Gold said with a grin. "That's because not all of the woods are affected by the curse to the same degree. There's no way Regina's full reach could extend that far while maintaining the control she has."

"I knew it," Graham muttered under his breath as Emma turned to him. "That's why I can't remember where exactly they took me. Wherever the Zimmers are, and Henry too probably, isn't _inside _the curse."

"Wrong, sheriff," countered the imp, "it's _inside _the curse all right. It has to be. Regina has _no_ control otherwise. The place you're speaking of will be simply beyond the main barrier."

"The barrier?"

"The wall of pure magic where the curse is strongest. Anything beyond that and folks start to get…confused," he said with a chilling little giggle. "Unless they leave the land altogether…and then they're lost for good."

Whatever warmth was left inside Emma's winter parka retreated from her completely as she shivered at the thought of what could have happened had Ashley Boyd crossed this…barrier a few weeks ago. Or anyone else for that matter. Gold meanwhile pressed on. "Storybrooke exists _within_ this—" he scoffed in disgust— "_unruly_ world but it is not _part _of this world. It's separate. Encased in a sort of…bubble. It's why you and Henry are the only souls who have successfully traveled through the barrier and beyond, and managed to retain your sanity. You're the only ones who _belong_ to both worlds."

"Then how were my parents able to get to Jefferson's mansion if it's beyond this main barrier?" countered the savior, leaning the heels of her palms against the table, causing the projection of Storybrooke to fluctuate and then dissolve from view.

"Jefferson has just enough magic left over from Wonderland to function beyond the wall," Gold replied with a dismissive wave, as if this particular point was so inconsequential, they'd be better off discussing sports or the weather. "Somehow he extended that extra protection toyour parents so he could show you what you needed to see." The pawn broker sighed and rolled his eyes. "Poor devil probably isn't even aware of it. Pity you couldn't help him with _his_ little girl."

Emma swallowed hard again, ignoring Gold's biting dig…_A __real world. One of many…_Jefferson's voice filled her head. _There are infinite more, and they touch one another, pressing up in a long line of lands, each just as real as the last. All have their own rules. Some have magic, some don't. And some __need __magic. Like this one. And that's where __you__ come in…_

"All right, well," she stammered, clearing her head and digging her nails into the edge of the table. "What's all that have to do with these…" she waved a finger toward the original map of the…_realms_ was it?

"So glad you asked," Gold propped up his cane against the table then rubbed his hands together over the parchment. "To get through the barrier, and eventually to get back to _our _world, you'll need to build up more magic. Lots more magic. And in order to do that, you must honor your destiny. You must break. This. Curse."

Emma looked to Graham, who seemed equally perplexed. "Isn't that what we've," she gulped, "_been _doing?"

Gold tipped his head sideways. "No my dear. Not really."

"But there's _lots_ of people out there breaking the curse," Emma argued. "People I don't have anything to _do_ with, even. Happy endings being restored all on their own and—"

"There are lots of people ripping _into_ the curse, yes. Pulling at its seams. Unraveling the spell thread by thread and creating fissures in its fabric, certainly. That's what has the poor queen so spooked," he added with that eerie little giggle. One that Emma was sure more suited his fairy tale alter ego than the sly shopkeeper before her. "But that doesn't mean it's broken my dear. Only _you_ can do that. Do you really think it possible for absolutely every citizen of Storybrooke to achieve his happy ending?" Emma's eyes bugged out. "Do you think everyone here even _has _a happy ending to restore?"

"No but—"

"No of course not," Gold glanced back to his table, shook his head and muttered. "Luckily for you, your parents are friends with those who matter most, so we're not too far behind."

Emma shook her head. "What does _that _mean? And who's _we_?" she challenged, shifting her weight over her other hip. "Why are you even telling me all of this?"

"Well I can't very well _bargain _with you for it can I?" he grinned, the gold fillings in his teeth glinting under the strange lighting of the room. "Your _daddy_ made sure of that."

"I know, but deal or not, you don't do anything for free. What's your stake in all this? What happens to _you_ if I break the curse?"

"Well…I go home of course," Gold grinned, "Same as the rest of you."

"Bullshit," came Shane's voice from his shadowy corner. Graham and Emma spun around to where the thief stood rather stoically, his arms still folded over the case he'd retrieved. "Look, I dunno shit about curses or magic or whatever other crazy-ass tales you guys are spinning here, but I _do_ know _this _asshole," and he thumbed his hand toward Gold.

"Really boy?" replied the dealmaker, and for the first time all afternoon, Emma spotted a tiny bead of sweat break across his brow. "Because I don't believe you or I are all that well acquainted here."

"Maybe not," said Shane as he stepped slowly up to the table. "But I've kept my eyes open in West End." He glanced at Emma. "You don't have to look real close to know who calls all the shots around here. Whatever he wants outta this, you can bet it's more than just 'going home'…whatever the hell _that _means."

"Quiet, Shane," mumbled Graham, glaring at the kid and his case.

But Emma wasn't so sure. Whether he meant to or not, Shane had just tipped enough of Gold's hand. Maybe not perceptibly. Not by Graham anyway. But Aladdin was on to something, and Emma intended to exploit it.

"No, he's right Graham," Emma turned back to Gold. "Hell, even reading Henry's book'll tell you _that_. No matter what happens to anyone else, you always have some hidden motive lurking in the background don't you? Some added benefit that no one ever knows until it's too late, right?"

Gold's eyes narrowed. "Well, fortunately for me, you're not exactly in a position to be wheedling it out of me, are you, Princess?" he shot back.

"I don't know about that," she folded her arms together. "You seem _awfully_ invested with whether or not I fulfill _my_ destiny. The destiny you_ gave _me, might I add when you created the curse in the first place."

"And since our two goals happen to coincide, I should think you might want to count your blessings and stick to the task at hand," Gold said, temper rising, pointing impatiently back to the map.

But Emma could tell she'd rocked his boat. She was getting close to something. She could feel it, and she pounded her fist into the table, sliding the parchment towards him. "Tell me why 'Stiltskin." His jaw clenched upon hearing his real name. "Why did you do so much, _hurt _so many people to create a curse that banished everyone here only to turn around and work _twice_ as hard to help me break it?"

Gold was glaring now, his eyes practically blazing as she treaded too close to his own private agenda. But there was something else in his eyes. And Emma saw only a glimpse before it vanished, but it was a look she knew well – one she saw every time she looked in a mirror: regret. "I needed…to find something." Gold said after a prolonged silence. "Something…that's no longer here."

She held his gaze for a long while, a sort of stalemate between them, but at last she backed down. She wasn't about to press her luck. After all, he did have a point. She had very little leverage here since her brilliant vision-plan had tanked. In the meantime, if he was willing to divulge more secrets of Storybrooke at no further cost to her friends, she wasn't about to push him any further.

"Now," Gold cleared his throat. "Once upon a time," he teased, "our world was divided into three realms, ruled by a plethora of gods and goddesses, _most _of whom wanted to create a safe haven where mortals could live in harmony," he added with a scoff. "They were powerful beings, most of them quite arrogant, and each capable of manipulating the elements, tapping into the very essence of magic in order to provide for us _inferior _humans."

Emma's throat dried up and she swallowed hard, feeling a bit like she'd just been plunged into some deleted scene from _Lord of the Rings_. "Ok? So?"

"_So_ those three realms eventually came to be ruled by six kingdoms." Gold gestured to each on the map as he named them: "New Gaia (where _you _were born), Seven Gales, Ebonshire, Braemar, Agrabah—" he glanced over at Shane with a smirk, "and Atlantica, or as the landfolk dubbed it – Lochmere: named after Sultan Rushdi and King Hubert released the Merfolk from the Snow Queen and united those of the land and sea."

"_Mer_folk?" Emma gasped in disbelief, a certain animated red-head coming to mind.

"Yes indeed, Miss Swan. As in, the Little Mermaid."

"Your point, Gold?" demanded Graham, stomping his foot impatiently.

"I'm getting there, Sheriff," the imp cackled, "wouldn't want to leave anything out."

"He's right," said Emma. "How's this help us find Henry?"

But Gold threw his head back in exasperation, slamming the tip of his cane against the floor. "It _doesn't_ help you _find _Henry."

"I'm just asking—"

"The _wrong _questions, Emma," Gold cut her off. "You still don't get it. You help Henry when you help your kingdom, _all _the kingdoms. When you free them from the curse. And you do that by restoring the balance of magic in all…three…realms," he said, pointing to each section of the map on every word.

Emma's mouth hung open as she tried to soak everything in, but breaking the curse suddenly sounded a lot more complicated – like some god-awful graduate-level logic equation…and she sucked at math.

"You see, when humanity grew to a point where there were far too many mortals using and _abusing_ their magic—"

"Mortals like you?" Emma spat, unable to resist making the connection.

"Uh ha ha, I'm no _mortal_, dearie," Gold let out another laugh that made her shiver. "The gods and goddesses of each realm decided to move on," he said, his voice turning slightly resentful, "leaving the guardianship of their magic to the royal families of these kingdoms, hand-selected of course. As long as each kingdom protected its realm, the balance between those who used good magic…and those who used dark would be maintained."

Emma reached forward, brushing her hand across each coat of arms, lingering on the symbol for New Gaia. "My parents are…a-are guardians of magic?"

"Well," Gold shrugged as he took up his cane once again and hobbled over to her side of the table. "Your mum is anyway. Though I'm not sure she was even aware of it yet. In fact," he peered again at the map, "I believe only _King _Philip would have known of his guardianship. Apparently good ol' Helios only appears to relate the tale on the eve of a guardian's coronation. The secret isn't even entrusted between father and son."

_Helios_, thought Emma, thinking back to Belle's story in the book…_Ancient texts hailed him as a god, and indeed his powers were thought to be god-like…He was part of a forgotten age, an age of sorcery and wizardry long lost to them. As mankind prospered and flourished throughout the three realms, the days when men and women wielded magic of such magnitude had faded into legend…_ Holy shit, thought Emma. It really _was_ all right in the book!

"So how did _you _learn all this stuff if you'renot a guardian?" Emma asked the only thing she could think to ask at the moment.

Gold merely tsked. "I've been around…a _while_ Miss Swan. And…I have my ways."

Emma blew out a sigh, glancing at a thoroughly worn out Graham, and then leaned her elbows against the table to massage her temples. "So…restore the happy endings of each guardian and…_that_ will break the curse?"

"Well," Gold cleared his throat as he moved toward the front of his shop and lifted the fabric covering. "That's a start." The group followed him out to the main part of the store as he continued. "Of course that only gets us halfway. Once all the guardians are awake, there's still the…other matter."

_The _other_ matter?! _Emma thought as she emerged from the cloth curtain first. "And what's that?" she asked, almost annoyed.

"What exactly they're guarding," Gold spun around with an exaggerated thunk of his cane. "Wishing wells."

This time it was Shane who openly guffawed. "_Wishing _wells? You've got to be kidding me!"

"'Fraid not lad."

"Come on, this is ridic—"

But this time it was Graham who chimed in before Gold could explain. "Every realm has a wishing well, Emma," he cut Shane off, then turned to his deputy, for _this _was a story he _had_ heard. Every school child from his world was at some point told the story of three wishing wells left behind by the gods. "It's true. Each is supposed to be a source of pure magic. One can return something lost, one can heal what is hurt, and the last one can—"

"Can open a door," Gold finished for him, emphasizing this last point rather critically.

"Open a_ door_?" Emma scoffed, resisting the urge to role her eyes. "Subtle."

"Indeed," Gold beamed at her, pleased to see her finally catching on. "Now, the one that can return something lost has already risen," Gold went on, "since young Thomas and your Mother are both awake. But three of the other four remaining guardians have yet to emerge. And it is only after all six are restored to their original identities that each well will be unearthed – " he stared pointedly at Emma – "and reactivated."

"Right," Emma sighed. "And how exactly do I do that?"

But it was on this point, Gold became abruptly silent.

"Oh come _on_ Gold," Emma slapped her open palm on the glass counter. "You're gonna stop _there_?"

"I think I've given you enough help today, dearie."

"But—"

"After all, a hero can't be given _all _the answers. I think even your boy would agree."

Emma opened her mouth again to argue, but Shane abruptly cut in front of her at the counter, taking advantage of, at long last, a break in this outrageous conversation, and slapped the cloth case down between them. "I wanna buy this," he said bluntly.

Gold glanced down at the worn satchel and grinned. "Without even opening it?"

"Call it a hunch all right? How much?"

Emma and Graham looked on as the two completed a modest sale. Then the younger spun on his heel, shot Emma a sharp glance, and stalked out of the store.

"I would go after him if I were you," Gold gestured toward the shop door now swinging shut. Graham took off instantly, and Emma turned too, but Gold held her back. "Oh one more thing, my dear," he said, his voice almost syrupy sweet.

Emma clenched her fists. "What?" she asked, and she turned back to find him holding something out to her. She jumped in surprise. It was a skeleton key, pulled seemingly from out of nowhere. "What's this?" she asked as he motioned for her to take it.

"A gesture of good faith," he crooned as she felt its heavy weight drop into her palm. "When you start to doubt my motives, I suggest you pay a visit to the Storybrooke Library. I believe you'll find something you've been looking for…something for which, you might say, I've developed a bit of a soft spot."

And with that, the imp retreated to his back room, leaving Emma alone. Completely alone. Standing in the middle of a pawn shop with an iron key in her hand; before her, a quest so daunting, the whole world seemed to screech to a halt…and she could barely breathe.

…

At noon on the nose, just as Mick had predicted, Henry heard heavy footfalls approaching his chamber door. _"Careful, now," _whispered the clever mouse in his head as Henry tucked a thin yellow sheet up to his chin, turned his back to the doorway and squeezed his eyes shut. The footfalls stopped, he heard the jingling of keys in the lock, and the door flew open.

"Oy! Get up ya little runt!" came a gravely, pirate-like voice. And indeed, as Henry faked a bit of grogginess and slowly shifted over on the bed, his eyes fell upon an angry old fellow, standing in his doorway with a stick for his leg…and a hook for his hand.

"S-sorry Cap'n," Henry mumbled, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"I've been instructed ta not let you starve, so git your little arse downstairs for lunch 'for your muther raises hell!"

Henry gulped and nodded obediently as the old pirate grumbled down the hallway, letting the door creak back into place, not quite closing against the frame. In a flash, Henry threw off the sheet, sped over to the corner of his room and tugged on the woolen blanket thrown over a small…moving mound. "Don't worry 'bout a thing, Pinoke!" he whispered as he lifted a corner of the heavy blanket. "I'll be back soon!"

From beneath the blanket peeked a small, wooden hand, stick-like digits closing around the corner seam and lifting it away. Mick scurried up to Henry's arm as Pinocchio emerged, looking as bewildered and confused as any painted wooden face could be made to look! "Wh-what if he comes back? Figures out I'm in here?" hissed the frightened puppet. How long had it been since the fairy dust had worn off and he'd crumpled to the floor? The new boy's touch had restored some movement, and for that he was grateful. But he was still not entirely trusting of this Henry fellow who seemed to have no real clue how dangerous this place really was.

Henry meanwhile, was bursting with excitement, the thrill of Operation Cobra back in his veins as he patted Pinocchio's shoulder, his hand knocking hollowly against the marionette's arm. "Don't worry about that. Tell 'im Mick!" he strained his neck and tried to look at the mouse now perched on his shoulder.

"_I can't, Pal. Remember?"_ Mick replied, amused. _"Only _you _can understand me."_

"Oh, right," Henry slapped his palm to his forehead and rolled his eyes. "Mick and some of his critter friends moved you here in secret once they realized you were…well—" he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to be delicate.

"Dead?" Pinocchio huffed, glancing down at his hideous, dusty limbs of cedar, clunking them together as he deftly folded his arms.

"Not dead, just…lifeless," Henry wrinkled his nose. "Anyways, _no _one knows you're in here. They've been lookin' for ya for years!" he grinned, glancing at Mick as if to ask whether he'd gotten it all right. Mick gave him an approving nod.

"All right well," Pinocchio tugged the blanket back up over his head, wearing it like an old beggar woman's hood. "Be careful, Henry. This place is…well, i-it's not what it seems."

"I will," Henry replied and tucked him back under the blanket, pushed himself off the floor, and swept the dust from his knees. "You ready?" he looked to Mick as he pulled open the breast pocket of his plaid over-shirt and Mick hopped promptly inside. _"Ready!" _

Henry tip-toed back to the door and closed his hand around the iron knob when he heard a rustling of wood and wool from the corner. "Hey Henry!" hissed the not-yet-real-boy.

The young prince turned, pulling the door shut once more. "What?" he hissed back.

The puppet seemed to gulp as he peeped his head back out and chanced one last question. "H-have you…_really _seen my father?"

Henry smiled, flashing forward in his mind. He couldn't _wait _to reunite 'Marco' with his son and finally awaken Geppetto! "Yes, Pinoke. In fact, I've met 'im. And you'll see 'im soon!"

After checking both ways in the dank corridor of his prison, Henry stepped out into the hallway and closed his door behind him. On the other side, he at last got a glimpse of the lock that had kept him trapped all night and into the morning. But apparently the place was secure enough that Hook didn't seem troubled by the fact that he'd left Henry on his own to find his way down to lunch. _"This way,"_ called the mouse who'd leapt out of Henry's pocket and was now leading the way down the corridor. Henry followed him, creeping along the hallway, aware of every creak as his sneakers made as they fell upon the moldy floor. _"Come on, Hook doesn't take kindly to slow-pokes!" _warned Mick, and Henry picked up the pace, though still trying to mentally map his surroundings. The corridor was long and dim, with windows so high up on the wall, they might as well have been cracks in the ceiling. Wooden frames housed paintings that hung rather crookedly along the walls, though Henry didn't recognize any of the images. Several of the portraits seemed to be of a young, rather rugged-looking man, standing stalwart-like upon the mast of a ship, but Henry's young eyes didn't quite have the foresight to recognize a very young, handsome not yet crippled version of Captain Hook staring back at him. After all, Peter Pan wasn't in _his _storybook. He knew the name from legend only.

Before long, Henry came to the top of a winding staircase, and it was here that he started to hear voices – high-pitched voices portending lots of activity below. Mick pattered up the banister and scurried to the black railing, his black beady eyes looking between the young one and the landing below. Henry gave the mouse a detective-like glance. "The Lost Boys?"

Mick gave him a nod. _"The Lost Boys." _

Henry tore down the steps, running so fast he nearly tripped as he reached the bottom. The voices were getting closer and in addition, he could hear the clanging of dishes and the clinking together of silverware. It sounded, actually, like some sort of party, and Henry barely noticed the ominous-looking fireplace and strangely lit chandelier overhead as he scurried through the home's front parlor into the communal dining room…and gaped.

Boys of all ages, from toddlers to pre-teens, were clambering over each other, hanging from light fixtures, swinging on ropes that were strewn from weird places. They were yelling, whooping, making strange Indian noises with O-shaped mouths as they sword-fought each other with forks. "G'day mate!" cried one as he lassoed a support beam and sailed down in front of him, taking what looked to be a sailor's cap from his head and plopping it down on Henry's. The boy gave him a rowdy salute and flew off again, clocking other boys on their noggins as he passed.

"Hey Nibs!" sounded a call from the other end of the great room. "Think fast!" Henry jerked his head to the side as one boy palmed an empty bowl and threw it at his target. The other boy, presumably Nibs, pounded his fists into the table and launched himself up from the bench.

"You're dead-meat, Ace!" he cried and the two started up a rousing game of tag in which several other boys joined before they all collapsed on top of each other, laughing.

Henry's first thought, as he watched the commotion, was how in the world Captain Hook had _ever _been able to keep these rabble-rousers under control. There had to be about twenty boys here! And not a one of them seemed likely to be easily tamed.

"_Hook stopped trying to control the noise years ago," _explained Mick as if he could read his mind (and indeed, Henry wondered if he had). _"But don't let this fool you," _the mouse's tone turned somber in his head, as he climbed back into Henry's pocket, _"this won't last."_

Henry was about to ask what his little guide meant when two identical twins clambered past him from upstairs, running straight into the dining room to join in the fun, almost as if they were racing to make up for lost time. "Dukey! Binky! There you are, ya little worms!" said the boy who had given Henry the sailor cap. "Raisin' hell for old Hooky?"

"Yeah sure, Rufio," said one of the twins.

"Flattened 'im right to the wall, I did!" laughed the other with entirely too much sarcasm for so young a person.

Rufio, Dukey, Nibs, Ace. Henry scrunched up his face in concentration, trying to shove all the names into his memory. Watching the absolute bedlam continue to ensue, he felt the urge to jump in and introduce himself, when a hand grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around.

"Henry?!" cried a new boy, one he hadn't seen when he walked in.

Henry's jaw dropped and his eyes sprang from their sockets. "Nicolas?!" he gasped. He almost couldn't believe his eyes. Nicolas Zimmer!? But then a taller girl (the _only _girl as far as Henry could tell) came up behind him, a girl with long, tightly wound braids descending from pigtails on either side of her head. "And Ava!" he squealed for joy. There was no doubt about it now. The Zimmer twins. Alive and well.

"Henry!" said the girl, who came instantly to his other side, clamped a rather strong hand down on his shoulder, and dragged him into the corner of the hall. "What are you_ doing _here?!" she hissed. Henry was about to respond when a smaller boy ran behind her, yanking on one of her pigtails. Ava's head jerked back and she growled in frustration, but she was too quick for the poor kid. She spun around, stuck out a worn tennis-shoe and tripped him, sending him sprawling across the floor. A handful of nearby boys turned to see him crash into the table and started hooting and laughing.

"Serves you right, Prentiss! For messin' with Gretel!"

Henry's eyes grew even wider. "G-gretel?!" he exclaimed, looking between the siblings. "Y-you remember?"

Gretel looked to her brother warily, and Hansel nodded as if to say, _Of course you can trust him you half-wit!_ She turned back. "Yes Henry, we remember. We started remembering as soon as we got here."

"_Where's_ here?" Henry asked, suddenly aware of the fact that Mick hadn't ever informed him of their exact location.

"Not exactly sure," said Hansel, "but keep your head low if you know what's good for you."

"Whadya mean?" Henry asked, reminded of Mick's warning just minutes ago. But Gretel didn't have time to answer, for at that moment, the double doors of the dining room crashed into its walls, and in the archway stood the tall, menacing, J.S. Hook.

The whole hall fell silent, and boys froze mid arm-wrestle or tussle as the captain stomped inside. "Sit down ya little bastards!" he shouted, reminding Henry of an old teacher he'd once had: Mrs. Hannigan, who always spoke to Storybrooke first-graders like she was some sort of over-worked orphanage mistress in desperate need of a vacation. The comparison struck Henry as quite humorous and he choked back a giggle.

Unfortunately, the laugh drew the captain's attention to their corner. His head snapped around and, upon realizing the noise had come from Henry Mills, Hook's eyes narrowed to dark slits, and he raised his hook, slowly approaching them. Gretel and Hansel stood on either side of Henry, pressing him back against the wall, and he felt Gretel's hand close tightly around his wrist. Hook grinned a devilish half-smile as he towered over them and was about to speak when a boy jumped up on a table behind them.

"Looky looky, fat old Hooky!" cried the boy called Rufio and the rest of the children repeated the chant in a rousing chorus.

Hook whirled around. "I've had just about enough of you!" he pointed his hook at the lad who looked to be one of the oldest boys there, a good two or three years older than Henry.

"_You_?" said the boy Nibs, making a big show of pinching his nose. "How ya think _we _feel?"

The boys cheered and laughed again, applauding the dig, and Henry was tempted to laugh too, but then he caught Gretel's gaze. She was glaring down at him, her eyes a mixture of sympathy and disapproval. "Pay attention," she muttered. "Nibs just saved your butt."

And no sooner had she said it than Hook flung his arms out to his sides and both Rufio and Nibs were sent hurling across the room, crashing into opposite ends of the hall and collapsing against the floor. "Now sit!" he commanded. "And eat!"

The boys fell silent once more as Rufio and Nibs groggily picked themselves up off the floor, nursing bruises and rubbing their heads, sitting obediently on either end of the table. A loud shuffling of stools, benches, tin plates and forks followed as the boys hurried to the center of the room, filled up their tins full of grub, and retreated to the table without a fuss. Gretel led a bewildered Henry to the far end of the room as Hansel went up to grab them some food. They plopped down quietly next to a moaning Rufio and watched as Hook eyed them carefully, then left the room.

"Thanks, Rufio," muttered Gretel, once Hook was out of earshot.

"No problem, Wendy Lady," Rufio muttered, giving Henry a wink before he plucked the sailor hat off the prince's head and returned it to his own.

"Uck! Stop calling me that!" she hissed, smacking him on the arm. Rufio shrugged and turned his attention to his gruel.

"Y-yeah um," Henry's eyebrows darted down. "Um, thanks," he added. "Wh-what just happened?"

Gretel sighed, spotted Hansel balancing three plates of grub and searching for them, and motioned him over to their seats.

"That, my friend, is what happens when you challenge Captain Hook," said a boy sitting across from them.

Henry looked up, recognizing the boy called Ace. "Yeah but…he like," he glanced sideways at Rufio. "He threw you against a wall, without even touching you!" He wasn't sure, but he didn't know any version of Peter Panin which Hook was…was…telekinetic!

"Yeah," laughed a smaller boy, elbowing Ace in the side. "Pretty cool huh?"

"Will you knock it off, Pockets?!" Gretel hissed. "There's nothing _cool _about it."

"Relax, Lederhosen!" snapped Pockets. "Kid's gotta learn sometime."

"Hey, don't call her Lederhosen, ya nimrod," said Rufio, smiling over at Gretel.

"_Everyone _shut up, all right?" said Ace. "Look," he pointed at the new kid, "it's Henry isn't it?" Henry nodded. "Lemme give you the low down here, all right? That there," he jabbed his thumb toward where Hook had disappeared, "is one J.S. Hook, former captain of the Jolly Roger and current _nanny _to us Lost Boys." Some of the boys within earshot chuckled. "We likes to rough him up at mealtimes and give him a good romp and a ruckus every now and then, but don't be mistakin' his handicaps for weakness, matey. That captain's picked up a few new tricks since the days when me mates and I swash-buckled him up on the seas of Neverland and fed 'im to a crocodile—"

"Ace," said a voice coming up behind him. Henry looked up just as Nibs smacked Ace upside the head. "Quit talkin' like you're a pirate and eat yer food."

Henry's mouth hung open like a codfish and he looked to Gretel for help. He wasn't exactly sure, but after Ace's – er – explanation, he felt a bit in need of a translator. "Hook's got powers here, Henry. Real ones," she explained. "We're too far out of reach for the curse to mask our memories, but that means _other_ magic here is stronger." Henry gulped.

"So the queen charmed Hook's hook into a sort of…magic wand," finished Hansel, shuddering a bit as if he himself had felt the direct effects of it at some point.

Henry looked to each of them, and then finally down at Mick, who had remained a silent but attentive eyewitness to the whole ordeal from the comfort of Henry's pocket. All were nodding, confirming the sad truth that ran as an undercurrent beneath this seemingly jolly bunch of boys (and girl). They were indeed prisoners and had no real illusions of escape. "Well-w-well," Henry stammered, panting, grasping for something that, surely, they'd missed. After all, with _this _group of awesome rascals, it seemed _anything _was possible! "W-what about uh—" he wrinkled his nose, trying to concentrate. There had to be some part of this whole place that didn't add up, something— he had it! "What about Peter?!" he cried, jabbing a finger triumphantly in the air like a sword.

But the epiphany didn't have quite the effect he was anticipating, for all eyes abruptly turned on him, and not a sound was left in the hall. Sheepishly, Henry lowered his hand, glancing around, feeling incredibly stupid, though he lamely felt the need to clarify, "You know uh…P-peter…Pan?"

It was Rufio who spoke first, feeling oddly sorry for the boy despite him having uttered the one thing that should have upset him the most. "Yeah, kid," he said, extricating himself from the bench and coming up behind him. "We know Peter Pan." He looked down at Gretel who regarded them both sadly.

"You better show 'im," she said, though she too got up from the table and the two of them led Henry to the other big set of doors at the far end of the hall. They walked in silence, down a few more dank corridors, before coming to a shoddy looking hatch, half off its hinges at the end of a hallway. They paused, standing before it, and Henry looked up at both kids before glancing down at Mick. _What's going on?!_ he focused his thoughts tightly in his mind, hoping Mick would get his message.

"_Peter's here, Henry," _Mick replied with a mournful twitch of his whiskers. _"He's just beyond that door._"

"What'd they do to him?" he asked, this time out loud. And it startled him that it was Rufio who answered.

"The worst thing they could've, Henry." He sighed, pulling open the splintered hatch and revealing a rusty set of bars behind it. The room beyond the bars looked pitch black, and for a few moments, Henry couldn't see anything. Then at last his eyes refocused and he peered into the cell, clutching the bars in his shaking, clammy hands. There was someone inside, a man. He was tall, huge in fact, with shaggy brown hair hanging over his face, his arms chained in heavy iron links against the wall. His shirt was torn and tattered, a mottled shade of green, looking far too small as its seams stretched and split across his torso. Slowly the man lifted his tired gaze to Henry's – a lifeless, forgotten look in his eyes. Henry gasped at the man's sunken expression as Rufio confirmed what the boy now knew. "They made 'im grow up."

…

Belle shook the snow from her sneakers as she trudged up her front stoop, anxious to get inside and make sure that her father was A – ok, and B – strong enough to move. She'd felt sick to her stomach since leaving Adam in the caverns, his active imagination no doubt running wild trying to guess what terrible thing she still had yet to tell him. Of course, no horror he could dream up would even come close to the awful truth. Since the moment she'd awoken in the hospital, she'd tried over and over again to justify her actions: 'Jack Hunter' was, technically, in small degrees _nicer_ than Gaston? She'd caved in a moment of weakness following her father's declining health? She didn't even _know _Adam _existed_? But as hard as she'd tried, she couldn't excuse herself. And that guilt had now driven a wedge between them. She shuddered to think of how he might react – that stone-faced expression followed by waves of jealous rage. Oh _why _hadn't she just sent Jack away that night?

Sighing, she turned the key to her little house and opened the door, steeling herself against what would undoubtedly be a most trying day. First things first, she chanted in her head. Get father to safety. Then deal with…the beast. "Papa?" she called softly as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. There was an odd chill in the air, as if someone had turned the heat down, and she wondered if Maurice had grown too warm under all those blankets. "Papa, I'm home!" she said as she shrugged off her jacket, tossed it on the couch and headed down the hallway. "How do you feel—" she said…and then froze in the doorway.

"Hullo Belle," came a deep, sinister voice in the corner.

Belle opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. There lay her father, sleeping peacefully in his bed…and by his side, hip perched on the window sill, stood a tall dark man, holding a knife. A man she used to call 'Jack.' A man…now _very _much awake.

"G-gaston," she whispered, fearful that if her father woke now, he'd be in even more danger. "H-how are you…why are you—"

"Awake?" Gaston snickered as he flipped the knife over itself and caught it once more by the handle. "A little gift from an old friend. You don't change much, do you Belle?" he tsked, slinking towards her, looking more evil, more menacing than he ever had in their old world.

"W-what do you want?" she hissed, standing her ground in the doorway, though already knowing resistance to be futile. The jet black hair hanging sloppily over his brow, half covering his face, did nothing to reduce the impression that she was staring the devil himself in the eye.

"You always do come back for this old loon, dontcha?" he chuckled again, and her pulse quickened upon every heavy thunk of his boots.

"What. Do you want?" she asked again, glancing quickly between her father and the brute. Gaston stopped in front of her, staring her down. His broad shoulders squared before her and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. But this was not the sloppy, unruly, clumsy drunk she'd known as 'Jack.' No, Gaston was in complete control, and though he was nowhere near as tall as Adam, she was frightfully aware of how surely he still towered over her, how completely he owned her right now. For he was absolutely right: she always would come back for her papa.

"Oh, I want what I've always wanted, Belle," Gaston leaned forward, slipping his arm around her waist as he leaned in to whisper, "and this time…you're gonna give it to me."

Fear washed over her, but she didn't let it show. No, she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. A knife at her throat was better than a knife at her father's. And without a word, Belle returned to the couch, slipped on her coat…and allowed Gaston to lead her out into the storm.

…

Emma sprinted out of the shop, tucking the skeleton key in the pocket of her parka as she rushed to catch up with Graham and Shane. The now heavily falling snow didn't even register as she scanned the square. To her surprise, however, she found them both near a bench just a few stores down from Gold's. Catching her breath and trying hard to get a firm grip on anything imparted to her in the last twelve hours, she zipped her coat up to her collar, tugged her hood up over her head and stalked over to them. Graham's back was to her. He was standing beside Shane, one leg propped up on the bench, but turned when he heard her feet crunching in the newly fallen snow.

"Hey, are you sure you're all right?" she asked as soon as he was within earshot. The image of him writhing on the floor of Gold's shop was one she couldn't soon enough sponge from her mind.

"I'm fine," he pointed anxiously at Shane. "He's a different story."

Emma looked down at Shane whose earlier macho-man act had clearly evaporated. Before sat a young man, almost boy-like, staring at the cloth case on his lap, now half covered in snow.

"Shane?" she said quietly.

"He still hasn't opened it," Graham muttered, pulling his own collar more tightly around his throat. "I tried to get him to at least get inside to Granny's, but this is as far as he got."

Emma glanced between both of them, and opened her mouth to reply, but Shane suddenly interrupted. "You believe in all that stuff in there? All that talk about realms and curses and spells?" His question shocked Graham, for the lad truly hadn't said a word since he'd run out of Gold's.

Emma looked nervously at Graham. Was the question even for her? She took a chance and answered it. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah I do."

Shane jerked his head to the side, glaring up at her. "You _really_ think that shit's real?"

Emma sighed, stepping past Graham and taking yet another chance in plopping down next to him on the cold green bench. "I know it's real," she muttered, "I'm sure of it." Folding her hands together, she leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knees. "Just as sure as I was that you didn't attack Sean. Just as sure as I was that you saved him."

At the mention of Sean, Shane looked away; it seemed almost like he was embarrassed by the memory – like any good Samaritan who truly didn't want credit for his deed. Emma shifted on the bench, tucking her left leg up onto the seat and sitting sideways to face him. "Just as sure you were…when you knew you _had _to buy that case."

Shane's gaze shot up again and narrowed in her direction, first at Emma herself, then up at Graham. Emma looked up too and Graham nodded in approval. She turned back. "Open it, Shane. It's gotta lead to _something_."

With all he'd seen and heard over his years of working West End's underground, one would think Shane Pilfer a perfect candidate for believing in the supernatural. But Emma had a feeling that separating from Jasmine – or rather 'Jade' – had destroyed his faith in a _lot _of things. Still, he'd listened through that entire encounter with Gold and hadn't once run out to alert the Looney bin. And instinct had prompted this rather odd purchase sitting in his lap.

"Open it, Shane," came Graham's Irish endorsement from behind her.

Shane shook his head, still half-convinced he was nuts, but his cold fingers started working the buckles on either side of the case regardless. "I must be outta my mind," he muttered, but he kept working, until finally the last buckle came loose. He took a deep breath, hands trembling (and not from the cold). He lifted the lid and blinked. "What the hell?" he whispered.

Emma strained her neck to get a better view which Shane gladly tilted sideways to show her. Looped into the cloth casing were two similarly shaped wooden instruments. _Clarinets? _Emma thought at first. No. They seemed more like those beginner flutes kids all had to learn to play in the third grade. What were they called? Recorders? She looked down at Shane. "Any…" she cleared the frog in her throat. "Any idea?"

"Not a goddamn clue," said Shane, almost in disgust as he shook the flap back around the old-fashioned flutes and looked ready to toss them into the snow.

"No wait," said Emma, thrusting her arm out to stop him. Her hand closed around his wrist…and then Shane started to wheeze.

"What the—"

"_I um…I think that's good enough to fool 'em, don't you?"_

"Shane?"

"_I'll bring these along tonight…just in case."_

"Graham, help me!" Emma cried, and she stood up as they flanked him, both of them trying to keep him from convulsing off the bench.

"What'd you do?"

"Nothing! I—"

But Shane cried out, shoving the case to the side and clutching at his hair. "What's happening?" he rasped…

"_Aladdin"_ whispered the voice of his wife…No, the voice of his…princess.

"_You need to leave before I do something really stupid"…_

And Shane, gripping tightly to Emma's arm, reeled back against the bench, gasping for air. For the memories…the memories came roaring back.

…

After an exhausting morning of driving all over town, alerting as many people as she and James could think of who might be targets, Snow led a rather unimpressive pair of allies down to the caves. First she'd stopped at Ella's house and informed them of everything. But Christopher had run out to the store and wasn't expected back for at least an hour, not to mention the fact that they had _just _gotten Thomas situated at the manor when Snow arrived. She left with little more than a promise from her dear friend, assuring Snow that the entire family of Seven Gales would head down together, as soon as they were able.

Snow then checked in with Frederick who had indeed contacted Archie and Marco on his way home from school, but Marco had insisted on responding to a reported break down with Michael Tillman's old tow truck, and since (Snow was distressed to learn) Leroy had never returned from last night's escapade, Marco was the only one who could help.

Her talk with Granny and Red hadn't fared well at all, though in truth Snow hadn't expected to gain much ground with them since neither were even _close _to understanding each _other_, let alone some crazy talk about a curse. She'd left the bed and breakfast fairly certain they both thought she was nuts, since she'd had to speak half in metaphors and euphemisms anyway.

And then there was her husband, who had already promised to retrieve Abigail from the bank as soon as he'd raided the 'Nolan' household for supplies. So as morning faded into afternoon, and the winter storm outside kept blowing, it was only Frederick and Archie that she led down into the caverns, hoping, praying that she would discover more allies when she arrived.

"You're sure he was going _straight _to the bank?" Frederick asked for about the umpteenth time as they descended the cobbled steps.

"Yes," she replied, hastily. She understood of course that Frederick would have preferred to pick up his own wife, but the bank was on the other side of town and much closer to the Nolan residence than the elementary school. "It's one of only two stops," she added. "They might even beat us down there."

This reply seemed to satisfy the young knight as he and Doc Hopper followed her deeper into darkness, trusting (though with some degree of trepidation) that the rather monstrous white lion escorting them wouldn't turn in a few seconds to rip out their throats. They reached the heavy latch without incident though and the mountain lion turned rather lazily and slunk away. Snow took a deep breath, felt along the door for the handle and pushed her way inside.

Immediately, the air around her turned warm and the cottage filled with music as she stood in the doorway, gaping in shock at the scene before her. Archie and Frederick actually could barely see as she seemed frozen to her old front stoop. For dancing on benches and stomping their feet to the familiar sounds of Bashful's organ playing, were Snow White's seven dwarves!

"Hey!" cried Grumpy, seeing her first. "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey!" he lifted his arms wide in the air, and the song gradually fizzled out of tune, then stopped altogether. "She beat us to it gents!" he cried and pointed toward the door. Finally the other six turned around and, after a beat, erupted in joyous hollering and applause that brought even Prince Adam forth from his retreat behind the house.

"Grumpy? Happy? Doc—" she cried, tears streaming down her face as Dopey and Sleepy lifted her in the air, letting the door fall open enough for Archie and Frederick to finally squeeze their way inside. "Sneezy! And Dopey!" she laughed, her eyes falling on each one as she was carried to the center of the room and placed reverently in the center, each one bursting with news and stories and love and happiness. Amidst the chaos, Snow managed to catch Adam's eye, and even he smiled warmly as he observed the cheerful gathering, no doubt longing for a similar reunion of his own with Lumiere, Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts.

They were bustling around her, each clambering to be the one to bring her some ale or offer her their chair, and Snow realized all over again that her crazy optimistic husband was more right than he knew. For here she was already…surrounded by family.

…

"While I'd like to look down at the earth from above, I would miss all the places and people I love, so although I might like it, I'll be coming home soon…cuz I don't want to live on the moon." It would have been thought quite an odd little lullaby in their old world, but the soft, lilting ditty she'd heard on _Sesame Street _had been a childhood favorite of 'Ashley Boyd's' and had been stuck in Ella's head for weeks now. It was also the one song guaranteed to put Alexandra to sleep. "No I don't," she finished sweetly, "want to live…on the moon."

Thomas listened, almost as entranced as Alexandra, as Ella finished the last verse just barely above a whisper, then eased their now sleeping daughter into her playpen and tucked her favorite Winnie the Pooh blanket up around her neck. The simple act of seeing his Ella putting Alex to sleep felt nothing short of a miracle given the events of the past few weeks, and Thomas was not about to miss a single moment. In fact, he was staring at her so intensely, she felt his gaze prickling her neck and turned, a bit startled by his expression. "What?" she asked, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear.

He shrugged and shook his head, nodding her over. "I'd almost forgotten how beautifully you sing," he said, swallowing hard as she approached.

Ella rolled her eyes. "Oh please," she chuckled, "I can hold a tune I suppose but I'm no Ariel—"

"You're perfect," Thomas cut her off as she reached the sofa, wrapped his good arm around her waist and pulled her down beside him. Still paralyzed from the waist down, the prince had been confined to his father's front room sofa all morning. He supposed he should feel grateful that Christopher was able to convince Dr. Whale that they could manage his paralysis at home just as well given how much he'd improved in all other areas. Still, Thomas had had to content himself with a lot of 'watching' and not a lot of 'doing' all day, and it was more than a little irritating to feel so isolated from the family despite having everyone finally, blessedly under one roof. "Besides," he added, with another squeeze of her waist. "You didn't sing a whole lot as 'Ashley'."

Ella scoffed at the mere mention of her meek Storybrooke counterpart. "I didn't do _anything _well as 'Ashley'," she mumbled, sliding her palms up his chest as she leaned into him.

Thomas could have argued, but he met her half way and kissed her instead, caressing his good hand up from her hip to tunnel into her golden hair, letting it sift through his fingers as he cradled her nape. "God, you feel good," he murmured against her lips, and her heart skipped a beat as she caught his hand in hers and nuzzled her cheek against his palm.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, settling her other hand over his heart.

He chuckled as he laced his fingers through hers and kissed her hand. "Ella, it's only been a couple of days—"

"You know what I mean," she shook her head.

Thomas sighed and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. "I do."

"I mean I know that we've been…you know," she pulled back from him, a troubling crease in her brow. "But in some ways I feel like I haven't seen you since…since—"

"Since the night we caught 'Stiltskin?" Thomas finished for her, giving her hand an extra squeeze.

She nodded and shuddered, that horrible night forever etched in her memory. "Gods, I thought I would never see you again," she said, instinctively clutching the folds of his shirt a little tighter.

Thomas tilted her chin up and kissed away a tear threatening to spill down her cheek, then continued to pepper feather-light kisses down her cheek to the corners of her mouth, back up to her temples, eyes, forehead, and then finally claiming her lips once more in a kiss clearly meant to prove to her that he was indeed, quite real. She whimpered in that sweet way of hers that set him on fire, and he mentally cursed the fact that his right arm was, for the moment, his only working limb.

"Ella," he said after a while, not wanting the euphoric embrace to end but knowing that reality must intrude. "We really need to talk about the queen."

At the very mention of it, he could feel her shoulders tense as she pulled away. "And we will," she said sternly. "As soon as your father gets back."

He frowned. "I still say you and Alex need to go _now_. Father and I will—"

"I'm not going to debate this again," Ella withdrew from his lap and stalked across the room to the baby bag she had been packing before Alexandra woke up fussing.

"Ella—" he reached out to her in protest. But she cut him off.

"Thomas I _told _you," she said, shaking her head violently as she folded a few onesies and shoved them into the tote. "I _just _got this family back together, and I am not about to split it up again."

"And _I'm _not about to let _this _be the reason you and Alex are in danger," he argued, gesturing down at his crippled state. Snow had stopped by a few hours ago to inform them both of the queen's confrontation with Emma. The prospect of having everyone crammed into the dwarves' little cottage was certainly less than ideal, but better than any other alternative at the moment. Thomas begged her to take Alex and leave with Snow right then, but the stubborn blonde had refused. Instead she'd assured Snow they would all leave as soon as Christopher returned from the store…together.

"Thomas?" she challenged him, standing resolutely with her hands on her hips. And though he was frustrated, he certainly couldn't begrudge the return of her spunky resolve. "If I have to _drag _you down there _myself_, I'm not leaving here without you."

The prince sighed. This is where the argument had ended last time, and he certainly didn't want to spend his first day with the two of them both finally awake in a perpetual squabble. But a part of him was terrified that any minute now, someone would come waltzing through the door. Someone, in no way and ally, who was hell-bent on making their reunion the shortest-lived happy ending imaginable. "Look," he tried again from his couch, watching her as she bustled about the room the way she always did when she was agitated. "I can't even imagine how we're supposed to maneuver that clunky thing—" he pointed the wheelchair sitting by the front door that the hospital had lent them— "through the enchanted forest and down who knows how many flights of cobblestone steps to the cottage, and I'm not exactly crazy about the idea of being a sitting duck once I'm down there either."

"You're not going to be in that thing forever—" she waved him off as she retrieved a basket of clean laundry from the front hall and started furiously folding up Alex's clothes.

His voice turned solemn. "We don't know that—"

"And it's not like we're at risk of some sort of mass invasion here—"

"We don't know _that _either. Ella please. I know that you want us to be together. And I promise you that we will be, but—"

"Don't!" she whirled around, jabbing a roll of socks toward him which might have struck him as funny had not the expression on her face been so deadly serious. "No more promises, Thomas. Not for me."

His mouth hung open, eyebrows darting down in confusion, "What?"

"I mean it. Not again," she dropped the laundry and rushed over to him, kneeling up on the floor beside the sofa. Instinctively, he reached for her, but she caught his hand in hers first. "The last time you made a _vow _in my honor? You ended up in Limbo." Thomas tilted his head to one side, his brow creased in woeful understanding, but she wouldn't let him interrupt. "_Limbo_, Thomas. Because you swore you'd protect me and the baby. And now you're trying to do the same thing."

"Ella, this isn't—"

"I won't go through that. Not again," she gave his hand a tight squeeze, half pleading, half commanding him to heed her. "Now I'm going to finish packing up Alex's things, we're going to wait for your father to come home, and then the three of us _together _will figure out a way to get us _all _to safety. You got it?" She gazed steadily into his gray eyes, daring him to object.

Thomas's better judgment nagged the back of his brain, but the voice was drowned out by the desperation in her plea. Insisting that he and Christopher would be right behind her was a far cry from swearing to pay the price of Rumpelstiltskin's contract. But in her eyes, he could see the two were inexorably linked. At this point, he had a better chance of convincing Adam to take up knitting than he had of getting Ella to leave without him. "Yes ma'am," he said, at last relenting.

Ella sighed in relief, about to lean in and reward his surrender with a kiss, when Thomas's phone buzzed along the end table. She glanced down, saw that it was Christopher, and handed it to her husband. "It's your father."

Thomas flipped it open. "Hey Pop," he said, throwing her a sideways glance as he reached up to stroke her cheek. "Yeah we were just wondering where you were."

Ella smiled and withdrew from the couch, about to return to her laundry when her prince's tone abruptly changed. "It what?" she heard him ask and she turned back around. "Well how did _that _happen?" he glanced up at her, clearly on alert, and Ella felt her stomach drop. "Well did you call Geppe – uh, Marco?" Ella started. Marco? "Yeah. Yeah ok. All right, you be careful, Pop," Thomas frowned, nodding into the phone. "Nothing just…be careful. We'll uh—" he glanced up at his wife. "We'll tell you when you get here," he said, and hung up.

"What happened?"

"Dad was about halfway home when his car stalled."

Ella's eyes widened. "Stalled?"

"Yeah, he said it just choked in the middle of the road. He's still waiting on Marco to show up with a tow. Apparently 'Leroy' isn't back from…from last night." Thomas looked down at his phone, and a terrible feeling came over him. His father owned a BMW. A classic, efficient machine that 'Mitchell Herman' tended to religiously. The car wouldn't…just…stall.

"Well, at least he's all right," Ella offered, relieved to hear it was just car trouble, though the look on her husband's face betrayed an obvious worry that it was something more. Honestly, he could be so paranoid sometimes.

"Ella," Thomas glanced over at the playpen, his throat suddenly constricting, "you _really _need to go."

"What? Thomas—" she started up again. It was as if their previous conversation hadn't happened!

"Go. Get Alex upstairs," Thomas insisted, using his one arm to prop himself up as high as he could go, glancing worriedly out the front window.

"Sweetheart, it's just a stalled car—"

"Ella—"

But before he could finish, the doorbell rang. They both froze, Ella panting heavily as her husband's panic rubbed off on her. "M-maybe it's Snow again."

"Take Alex upstairs—" he started, but he couldn't finish, for as he suspected, the ringing bell had been a mockery of formality. As if it were made of cardboard, the door of his father's Mifflin street mansion flung open into the hall, sending a decorative, marble display table crashing to the foyer floor. Ella shrieked and Thomas gasped as Rodmilla Tremaine walked icily into their home…flanked by her own daughters.

"Well if it isn't _Cin_derelly and her faithful prince," sneered Marguerite Tremaine as her sister Drizella snickered behind her.

Ella gaped in horror as she stared desperately across the room to where her daughter was sleeping. Thomas's terror-filled gaze juddered between them, fearing the same thing his wife did as he tried uselessly to move his legs. There was no time to wonder how or why Rodmilla Tremaine knew Ella was awake, or why her stepsisters were suddenly in-the-loop. Ella and Thomas were aware of only one thing: from where they all stood, baby Alexandra was closer to Tremaine than either of her parents.

"Hello dear," came Rodmilla's grating, alto voice as she stared between prince and princess. She turned a snake-like glare on the playpen where lay their still sleeping baby. "How lovely to see you all again." And with a soft click, she reached back and closed the wobbling front door.

…

_Jasmine stood in the center of the mat, eyes closed, breathing deeply through her nose and out her mouth. Her weapons, two rattan sticks, she held down at her sides, her hands clenched tightly around the handles as reserves of energy pulsed down her arms, into her wrists and rested in her hands. She continued to breathe, working toward a state of total equilibrium as she strove to master the one faculty that still eluded her – patience._

_ It was going to be a very trying day. Prince Achmed's entourage was already en route, and her father had informed her this morning that he had a very "good feeling about this one!" By now, Jasmine understood this translated into: "I expect you to be his constant companion in the hopes that _this _one you will marry!" Already, Rushdi had loaded his daughter's schedule with the varied and pointless engagements she had come to expect from this curious new practice of speed-courting the sultan seemed intent on making fashionable. And then of course, there was the trepidation over tonight's dinner. After almost two months of training to defend her throne, the last thing she needed was to put herself in danger of exposing the extent of her lessons to her father's uppermost circles, men in fact who would be most likely to challenge her rule. Thus, her early arrival this morning to the arena. If anything, the physical workout provided her the only means by which she could work out the stress of being her father's daughter._

_Typically, they began work at the crack of dawn, starting at an early enough hour when the Agrabah heat was at its mildest compared to the midday scorch. But Jasmine had arrived today before the sun had even peaked over the horizon, restless, anxious to release the energy so inexorably pent up in her soul. With so much on her mind, it seemed almost inconceivable that she be able to reach any sort of peaceful center from which to begin. But as she stood beneath the dome, breathing deeply, she managed to clear her head of all extraneous concerns, cleared all the talk of kings and weddings, of princes and feasts, of rumors and ice princesses, of her father's illness, of everything until there was one, calming, solid image left in her mind…Aladdin._

"_Hyah!" she cried, leaping gracefully into an attack position, chopping the rattan sticks through the air as she twisted, turned, ducked, flipped and parried. Flawlessly, she executed each position, feeling the peace and the calm work through her body despite the sharp and violent motions. Eskrima – a curious discipline, one Aladdin had not learned in Sherwood Forest. In fact, its origin remained a mystery to her, but it had become her personal favorite in recent days. Its main function of course was combat, but it was a style of precision, of persistence…of passion. The more she moved, the quicker the pace, the sharper the pose until the maneuvers became so fluid she felt as if she were dancing._

"_Still dropping your shoulder I see," a voice cut into her subconscious and flung her back into reality as she abruptly and rather awkwardly stumbled out of the synchronized movements and turned. Aladdin was leaning against one of the tower's large columns, arms crossed, bag habitually slung across his chest._

"_Just…making sure you have _something _to critique," she countered, hands at her hips. "Don't want you to outlive your usefulness."_

_He smirked on approach, sweeping a few strands of wavy black hair off his face. "I see…you're testing _me _now, is that it?"_

_She smiled. "Something like that. Did your evening wear arrive last night?"_

_Aladdin walked right by her, but she didn't miss the roll of his eyes as he moved to the long, wide, cushioned bench at the far end of the room and set his bag down in front of him. "Oh yes, I can't I _wait _to show Prince Achmed how well I look in all that…purple."_

_Jasmine chewed her bottom lip as she moved to join him. "I'm sorry, it's just this one night – just the official welcome—"_

"_And there's no _way_ I'm wearing the hat," he added, shifting his bag around and opening the satchel flap._

_She opened her mouth to argue, but then thought the better of it. She supposed the least she could do was compromise on the turban. "Fair enough," she nodded and then gestured to the floor. "Shall we begin?"_

"_Yes," he said, though he made no move to rise from the bench. Instead he pulled a small cloth case out of his bag, looked up at her and then patted the seat in front of him. "But today's lesson is…a little different."_

_Jasmine's brow creased, but she nevertheless sat down in front of him, tucking one leg under the other. "Are we…starting a new discipline?"_

_He grinned. "Sort of."_

_She looked at the case as he carefully undid its buckles. "New weapons?"_

"_Not exactly."_

"_What kind of lesson _is_ this?"_

_He glanced up at her as he lifted the soft flap of the case. "I call it—" he turned it around for her to see "—plausible deniability."_

_The princess looked down and instantly scoffed as she beheld two beautifully crafted wooden flutes, each held in place on the cloth by two leather loops stitched into the casing. "Aladdin—"she rolled her eyes._

"_Ah! No arguments. _I'm _the 'professor', remember?" he set the case down and slowly removed one flute from its holster._

"_I _told _you we won't be asked to perform—"_

"_You don't know that."_

"_I'll speak to my father about it directly. I'll tell him ahead of time—"_

"_And with your father's illness, what's the likelihood that he'll remember your request?" he countered, pushing the flute into her hands before she had time to argue. _

"_I know, but—"_

"_And even if he does, that doesn't guarantee others won't ask, especially Prince-I-want-a-bride-and-am-too-lazy-to-find-one-myself Achmed."_

_Jasmine laughed outright as she clutched the flute instinctively to her chest. She didn't quite know why, but it pleased her that Aladdin seemed to have already developed an acute bitterness toward Prince Achmed. Yes…it pleased her very much indeed._

_Aladdin, briefly entranced by the beauty of her all-too-infrequent laugh, waited for her chuckling to subside and then leveled a more subdued gaze. "Trust me," he said, lifting the second flute from its loops and tossing the empty case on the floor. "_This _will be far easier than convincing a party of snooty royals that you can't play anything after two months of music lessons. Safer for both of us too."_

_She watched as he held the flute expertly out in front of him, delicately covering a combination of holes with his fingers before catching her eye. "You…actually _know _how to play the flute?"_

_He grinned and sat up a little straighter on the bench, a faux show of conceit. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Princess."_

_He placed the flute to his lips, curled his tongue up underneath the reed and blew; a lovely note resonated from the instrument, filling the entire space of the tower as Aladdin adjusted the pressure and air going through the flute. It was just one note – not even a melody – and yet Jasmine watched and listened in amazement as he altered the tone, pitch and volume of the sound before finally letting it fade into the air like a whispering breeze, his control over the note evidence of great skill and training to even her amateur ear. "Why…didn't you tell me?" she asked in barely a whisper._

_Aladdin grinned wider. "You never asked." _

_For the next few hours, Aladdin taught her the proper positioning of hands and placement of fingerings for a series of relatively simple melodies. He had procured for her a special flute that did not require a reed and therefore needed not the degree of skill to produce sound that his own flute demanded. She could simply blow softly against the wood and follow the positioning to master the simple tune. During the lesson, Jasmine was relatively quiet but extremely attentive as he slowly and patiently transformed her into a novice musician. He played, she followed, and not once did she grow impatient or frustrated as she had so often in their combat training. Listening to visiting symphonies and court musicians had always seemed such obligatory bores to the princess, but _playing_ music – she discovered – offered a certain serenity of spirit and equilibrium she hadn't quite been able to reach this morning, even in the silence of the empty arena._

_On the other side of the bench, Aladdin's reaction to the lesson was quite the opposite. Instead of achieving the quiet calm of his pupil, the thief felt his pulse quickening with every note. For some time now, he'd felt that Princess Jasmine's beauty was beyond compare, but watching her as she closed her eyes, mingling his hands with her own as he schooled her in the different positions and then seeing the hint of a smile in her cheeks as she heard herself play them successfully was leaving him quite unhinged. How can he possibly have spent two months with this woman rolling, tumbling, sweating, dueling and pinning her to the ground without incident only to come closer to the edge of temptation than ever before after teaching her a childhood lullaby?_

_Toward the end of the lesson, after Jasmine had successfully played the song three times through without assistance, Aladdin at last revealed that she had been learning a counter-melody to a song he used to play as a boy. "The actual song is a bit more difficult with higher notes that span two octaves. What you've just learned is the harmony." Jasmine nodded as she repositioned her fingers for the first note. "I'm going to play the harder melody," he explained. "When I nod to you, see if you can play what you've learned – a bit quieter though…sort of…underneath me – and stick to the notes that you know while I play the verse."_

"_All right," she said, adopting an expression of intense focus and discipline that might have made him laugh if it wasn't so damned enchanting. Aladdin began the song and then nodded for her to start. The first few times they tried it, Jasmine failed to remain on her part. The complexity of playing one note while hearing another was something she couldn't quite grasp at first. It felt as if his notes were fighting with hers, and she kept trying to win the battle. But the third time through, she found sense in the tune, and could hear how the notes were supposed to work together. When he nodded, she began to play, and the sweet little tune became a beautiful duet, simple and child-like yet haunting and melancholy to the point where Jasmine's eyes brimmed with tears. The two melodies converted the small tower into a concert hall, and they were starring attractions. When at last her part ended, she drew a deep breath and listened while he finished out the song and then lifted his gaze to hers. _

_Still seated on the bench across from each other, neither breathed a word, as if each knew that speaking would utterly destroy this private little world they'd just created. His eyes bore into hers, smoldering, on the brink, as if a simple brush of the arm would be all it would take to send him over the edge. She knew it too. She could feel it – magnetically. In his eyes she could see reflections of a future she suddenly, desperately wanted. Goddess, it would be so easy to give in._

_But her heart, so full of what could no longer be dismissed as mere infatuation or idle fancy, also brimmed with fear. A princess and a street rat – the scandal could ruin everything. Her love for her people, her destiny to rule and heal the problems plaguing her kingdom – how could she risk that fate?_

_Knowing her as he did, and seeing the doubt creep into her expression, Aladdin plucked the flute from her hands and forced himself to look away. "I um," he cleared his throat as he bent to retrieve the cloth casing, "I think that's good enough to fool 'em, don't you?" His tone was light, but it was a colossal effort for him to withdraw from their bench and move toward the railing where he'd tossed his bag. "I'll bring these along tonight…just in case."_

"_O-okay," she whispered, still sitting._

_Aladdin gripped the edge of the railing, his knuckles white as he kept his back to her, not trusting himself yet to turn around. "You…you better get going. I'm sure you want to change before Achmed arrives."_

_Jasmine at last rose from the bench. "Aladdin," she started toward him, not really sure what she wanted to say, but knowing also that she didn't want to leave him._

"_Don't—" he pleaded, feeling her drawing near. She stopped. "Please just…" he trailed off, shaking his head. This was torture. Couldn't she tell what this was doing to him? To them? He flashed back to their first meeting. _I don't believe in true love, _she'd said. _I'm not built that way…_She was wrong. Dead wrong. She _had _to know that by now. _Why _couldn't she see that?"You need to leave before I do something really stupid," he rasped._

_Jasmine swallowed hard. Stupid. Yes. That was exactly the word. Stupid that she was still standing here. Stupid that she hadn't yet retreated. Stupid to think, to even _consider _that maybe…that maybe they_ _could…_No_, she thought, abruptly turning from him and heading for the exit. _Keep walking, _she ordered herself. _Do as he asks. Leave. Leave now. _It was better this way, wasn't it? She couldn't afford the distraction. She couldn't afford more secrets. _If anyone ever found out...

_But the further she walked, the more hollow and irrelevant the little voice in her head became. She was tired of that voice, tired of denial, of ignoring what had so obviously developed between them. With every step she made toward the door, her body screamed for her to stop, begged her to stay, until at last, frozen beneath the archway, the tiny voice disappeared completely…and she turned back to face him. "What about…rule number three?" she called out to him, in a voice far stronger than the one she'd been using. _

"_What?" he whirled around. _

"_Rule number three?" she repeated, drawing closer now. His eyes were blazing, and he gripped the railing behind him so hard she thought it might snap in two. She halted in the center of the arena with a helpless shrug. "Don't run…if you know you can win."_

_Aladdin advanced on her so fast he practically flew across the room and, without hesitation, gripped her by the shoulders. "Don't do that," he said in a fierce whisper, his fingers digging so hard into her flesh it might have been painful had she not wanted him so badly. "Don't say that if you don't mean it," he rasped, his voice breaking. "Because if you don't mean it, Jasmine, I swear I'll—"_

"_I mean it," she gulped, running her gaze over the hard bronze skin shadowed by his vest. She placed her hands on his abdomen, as she had done so many times before to try and flip him off of her or gain a tactical advantage. But today she trembled as her palms slid gently up his chest, boldly dipping beneath his vest, and came to settle around his neck. "I mean it," she said again in a hoarse whisper before she lifted her gaze to his. "You win."_

_Aladdin came undone. Tightening his grip, he flattened her to his chest and slanted his mouth over hers, parting her lips almost immediately and silencing her gasp as he dipped his tongue inside. Jasmine rocked backwards from the electric shock of such sensual ferocity, but she did not pull away as he tasted her, explored her mouth, drank hungrily from her lips, while wrapping one arm firmly around her waist to keep her upright. Indeed, he'd quite knocked the wind out of her, but the princess soon responded in full, snaking her fingers back around his neck and then up through his hair, pulling his head down to deepen the kiss further. She licked into his mouth with the same erotic thrill of domination that drove him, earning a deep and heady groan that rumbled from his throat. This was how it should be, she realized as he urged her backward and together they stumbled clumsily across the mat. He backed her up against one of the marble pillars of the arena and let out an impatient grunt as he pinned her against the column, all the while never breaking the kiss. This was how it _must _be between them – ever the competition, this explosion of passion that so closely resembled the thrill of battle. The two were intricately linked in Jasmine's mind now as Aladdin slid his palms down her bare arms and trapped her wrists tightly to the marble, feeling not unlike a round of sparring when one had the other pinned to the floor. Instinctively, she flexed her arms and pushed against his grip, twisting their hands and wrists together as she lifted them over her head and laced her fingers with his. He followed her lead, pressing their clasped hands to the column behind her, and Jasmine shuddered at the carnal delight of having her arms stretched and restrained against the cool marble. Finally, he drew his mouth from hers, murmuring her name against her glistening skin, and a soft cry escaped her as he rained a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck. _

_He paused at the base of her throat, where her neck met collarbone, and nipped at the sweet flesh with his teeth. Jasmine gasped and threw her head to one side, further baring her neck to his ministrations. "Sweet Hera," she groaned. Her eyes slid shut as his mouth closed more fully over the sensitive spot and he suckled tenderly at the skin he'd just bruised. Never in her life had she experienced such raw, unadulterated pleasure. Even with the countless princes and noblemen paraded by her door, only a handful of them had ever been allowed more than a peck on the hand, and even fewer a full kiss on the lips. But to this man? To this thief? She wanted to bare her body and soul. Shamelessly, she slid her hands out from beneath his grip against the pillar and grazed the tips of her fingers down the insides of his arms, smoothing over his broad shoulders and then sliding back up to the hairline at his neck. He sucked in a breath, shivering at her caress, and she relished in the knowledge that her touch could inspire the same enthusiastic response as his own. Boldly, she tunneled her fingers through his wild, black hair, pressing him to her, encouraging his glorious attentions as he kissed and laved his way across her shoulders to the hollow of her throat and then suckled the tender skin just above the neckline of her camisole. She moaned and sighed as Aladdin continued to worship her with his touch, but it wasn't until she felt him move even lower that her eyes flew open, and she gasped and looked down. His daring shocked her but she again made no effort to stop or push him away as he peppered kisses along the thin silk stretched over her breast. He paused just as he reached one painfully tightened peak, and then closed his mouth over her breast, gently sucking the tiny bud through the gossamer fabric. Base, unbearable pleasure swept through her, and Jasmine cried out his name, kneading her fingers through his hair as if she might pull him away. And yet it felt too good, too right to deny herself this new sensation. Instead she held him there, encouraging him to continue as he pressed his body even closer, trapping her more firmly against the pillar._

_Trap. Capture. Surrender. Words he'd used to show her to fight, he now used to claim her heart. And yet it was a victory for her as well, for as surely as he claimed her, so too did she savor the knowledge that he was (and always had been)…hers. This intoxicating revelation stirred in her veins and compelled the princess to turn the tides of this battle and ramp up the heat. Tightening her grip in his crazy black mane, she hauled his face back up and fused her lips to his. His impassioned moan, which seconds ago might have turned her weak-in-the-knees, prompted her instead to draw one slippered foot along his ankle, up his calf and then curl her leg around his outer thigh. _

_Aladdin gasped and drew back, already fearing that he'd pushed her too far, too fast. In fact, he'd been consciously working to silence that nagging voice in his head which had thus far done a superb job of reminding him of what an utterly undeserving ass he was. But when he lifted his heated gaze to her own, her eyes brimming with the same heady desire, the same unbridled need, the street rat could have more easily stoppered the Canyon Falls of Lochmere than reigned in his passions. Palming the base of her thigh in one hand and wrapping his other arm firmly around her middle, he hoisted her up, urging her to wrap both legs around his waist. Then he braced her back against the column, using the solid marble to hold her in place as she hooked her feet together behind his back. _

_All at once, time seemed to halt, and an almost quiet reverence settled between them as he gazed up at her. "Jasmine," he rasped, his eyes sweeping over her beautiful form. "If we go any further," he paused and lifted one hand to brush the pad of his thumb across her cheek. "I-I won't be able to stop."_

_She gazed down at him and felt something like a tightly wound coil springing loose in her belly. What he spoke was neither threat nor warning. He offered, simply, a way out. One last chance to escape. Even now, as she sat willingly, scandalously astride him, even now when she could feel how fervently he wanted her, he was ready to let her go, to let her off the hook. "I don't want you to stop," she whispered and covered his hand with her own. "I don't ever want you to stop." Trembling in his embrace, with a virginal sweetness in her gaze that nearly broke him, Jasmine laced her fingers through his and then guided his hand to the strap at her shoulder, easing the already loose, silky garment down her arm. _

_Aladdin cast any remaining shred of good sense to the winds and sealed his mouth over hers, slipping his arm back around her waist. He lifted her away from the column, carrying her almost child-like to their velvet-covered bench where they hurriedly divested each other of all encumbering garments. "Gods, you're beautiful," he whispered after removing her camisole, dipping his head to kiss her again. She trembled in his arms, possessed by the sudden urge to feel his own skin pressed against hers as she fought for dominance of the kiss. She smoothed her hands up his bare chest, excited again by the response it stirred in him, and he groaned into her mouth as she continued her exploration. Her hands trailed delicately along the rough, hard ridges of his chest and abdomen, then grazed almost lazily down his sides, her light caress driving him wild above her until he could stand it no longer. Bracing both arms on either side of her head, he settled himself over her, and their urgent panting ceased and they lay poised on the very edge of consummation. _

_He gazed into her eyes, loving her with every fiber of his being, and traced the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. "Are you sure?" he breathed, heart pounding so hard she could feel it beating against her own chest. _

"_I'm sure," she murmured against his cheek._

"_I love you," his voice broke, and in one swift thrust, he entered her, possessing her as fully and completely as she had possessed his soul…_

Aladdin was fairly certain that what he'd experienced just outside Gold's shop was _not_ in fact a Seer's vision. Emma Swan didn't seem to have witnessed anything herself. Her touch merely restored the memories inside, allowing his brain to fill in the blanks of what had begun upon seeing his old case. Plus, as far as he knew, only the Seer herself ever actually saw anything if it was a vision, and Aladdin had seen it all. At least…he certainly _hoped _that was the case as echoes of that fateful morning in the palace tower thrummed through him, playing over in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. The first of many times he'd made love to Jasmine in that tower wasn't exactly a memory to which he wanted Storybrooke's savior to have an all access backstage pass.

Still, he was grateful to Emma and Graham for dragging him along to their little 'freak-show' with Gold. That's what 'Shane' would have called it anyway (and Aladdin had grown quite attached to the little delinquent). The visit had led to his awakening. Finally, an end to all the confusion, life in the criminal underground, the crazy notion he'd had of always being watched.

Now, as he rushed through the snow towards the east docks, the case of flutes slung securely over his shoulder and the prized lamp tucked inside his coat, bumping up against his breadbasket, he had a definite sense that his awakening came just in the nick of time. The HFC, where 'Jade' worked, was just around the next block, and though he hadn't run into a lick of trouble all the way, he had a feeling she was in grave danger.

Genie hadn't ever spent much time discussing gods and other realms and magic in their land. Frankly, it was a bit beneath the big blue guy's radar. But if everything Gold had told them this morning was true, then Jasmine _had _to be one of these six guardians of magic. _He _sure as hell hadn't come from any royal blood line, poised to inherit such an important stewardship. But Gold did identify Agrabah as one of the six chosen kingdoms…and Jasmine? Well, accepting a role of protector over the magical well-being of her kingdom and by extension her entire realm? Yup, that was right up Jasmine's alley. He couldn't think of a more qualified royal actually as he thought back to the defining moment of her final ascension challenge. Armed with those two rattan sticks, Jasmine had successfully flattened Razoul to the ground and the entire kingdom actually erupted in cheers…for her. Yeah. Jasmine was _definitely _a guardian.

For this reason, Aladdin was determined to reach her as soon as possible. Assuring Emma and Graham that he was very much awake, and promising any help he could give once he was sure his princess was safe, he'd taken off toward the Storybrooke Health and Fitness Center, praying his gut instincts were wrong.

Amidst a snow fall that was picking up intensity by the minute, Shane Pilfer rushed toward the community building where – he chuckled, remembering – Jade Pilfer taught yoga and self defense classes for women. Regina really _was _pretty thick for having allowed the cursed 'Jade' to retain that part of Jasmine. Perhaps the queen underestimated just how much ass his beloved pupil could kick…

…From the shadows behind club Ugly Duckling, a man watched Shane Pilfer arrive at the HFC. There was purpose and knowledge in his step, though that had been a trait of 'Shane's' as much as Aladdin's. Still, John didn't doubt for a moment that the young street rat was finally awake…_just _as Gold had predicted. Son of a bitch, was the man _ever _wrong?

John waited to ensure that Shane was fully inside before emerging from behind his dumpster and brushing off the small mound of snow that had accumulated on his brand new heavy trench coat, a gift to himself of course. He'd picked it out at the Emporium after dropping Henry off at the boys' home and trailing Emma long enough to make sure she went into the court house. All in all, John Foulfellow had already had a rather full day, but _this _was the moment he was most looking forward to. This was the big pay off. And how convenient was it for Regina to have assigned him this same spot for the siege! Two birds; one stone – Honest John's favorite kind of kill. For soon, both royals of Agrabah would emerge from the curse…and all that treasure…would be his.

…

James was by no means naïve. He loved his wife, his daughter, his grandson, and would forever search for the silver lining no matter how dire the situation to ensure that they never lost faith. But deep down, beneath the sanguine assurances of a ruling prince, lay the pragmatic reality of a poor shepherd – A shepherd who had already lost more than half his life to a curse, his mother to the avarice of a king, and his daughter's entire childhood to a miserable witch, hell-bent on his family's damnation. A part of him truly did believe that all would turn out well in the end, and that his family, in one way or another, would prevail. Good can't lose, as he'd said many years ago…But there was no way in _hell_ he was going to let Snow accompany him back to the Nolan household…to retrieve Abigail.

Rummaging throughout the house, gathering clothes, food, tools, anything that could be forged into a weapon, James moved fast, feeling very much as if he were running out of time. There was much to be done, and so much more to accomplish before any of them could really rest easy. Hopefully, Emma had been able to learn something of value from Rumpelstiltskin, but he doubted very much that the imp had drawn her a map with X marking the spot where Regina kept Henry. He wasn't entirely convinced, as his daughter seemed to be, that 'Stiltskin even knew or cared where Henry was, but he had to let her try. In the meantime, their plan was simple. Stock up and regroup. The cottage was small, yes, but bigger than it looked, and he was sure the queen didn't know about it, else it would have been destroyed years ago.

He'd spent barely an hour at the house gathering victuals and was fairly certain he'd cleared and loaded everything to his SUV that could be useful. All that was left was the garage which he figured would probably offer them a few more tools that could come in handy. He loaded his last duffle bag into his trunk and then slammed the lid shut, blowing hot air into his gloves as he then walked up the driveway to the Nolan's garage. He remembered "Katherine" telling him at some point that their garage was so "full of junk" they hadn't parked cars in there for years. He was just about to lift the door and check out that "junk" when a voice startled him from behind.

"James!" cried the voice of a worried blonde, the heels of her boots clicking up the driveway.

James jumped and spun around. "Abigail!" he cried, instantly on alert. "Wh-why are you home already?"

"I got a call from Frederick. Told me to head straight to the house. Something about Regina? Knowing about the curse – oh James!" The girl was clearly panicked, throwing her gloved hands over her mouth. "What if she taps into her magic? What if she makes me turn on you all again?"

James eyed her warily, peering into her gaze. It _was_ rather a coincidence that Abigail had just voiced his _exact _fears about those whose hearts the queen controlled. For this veryreason, he'd readily agreed with Snow that they should split up. If the queen knew they were awake, all bets were off, and there was every chance in the world that the witch would resort to her old tricks. Then again, if Regina _was _controlling her, Abigail would hardly be _warning_ him of the possibility. "Well…" he said steadily, backing away from her. "H-how do you feel? You said once you could always feel her presence. Do you feel her now?"

Abigail lowered her hands to her throat, her eyes darting around as if searching for some invisible force. "N-no," she shivered, bundling herself up against the snow.

James allowed his shoulders to relax, though faintly, as he reached for the handle of the garage and yanked upwards. "Good," he said. The door flew open and bounced lightly against its stopper at the top. "Then stay there while I grab a few things and we'll head out, ok?"

She nodded, seeming glued to her spot on the driveway as he stepped into the makeshift storage shack and started rummaging through boxes. He was halfway to the back, practically disappearing amidst what seemed indeed to be mostly _junk_, when he thought of something. "Wait," he started to turn. "Did you say Frederick _called _you—"

But James didn't get to finish that sentence. With a blow far mightier than she should have been able to wield, Abigail stood directly behind her former betrothed and struck him hard with the base of a shovel. He fell to the concrete floor with an unceremonious thud, while the princess stood over him, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry James," she whispered. And then she wept.

…

After parting ways with Aladdin, barely pausing to rejoice in the awakening of another prince, Graham and Emma raced to the town library. Apparently, it had been closed for years, for it seemed no one in Storybrooke had ever felt moved to seek knowledge. Thus, it was the perfect place for Gold to be hiding something, and Emma didn't at all feel like waiting until she started "doubting Gold's motives." She already _doubted Gold's motives_, and on the slim chance that this "something she'd been looking for" was indeed her son, she wasted no time in pursuing the only lead to come out of this entire screwed up day.

She wondered, worriedly, what was going on elsewhere in Storybrooke. Since leaving her parents and agreeing to meet up at the cottage, had they found everyone they were looking for? Were they all waiting in these caverns below that Emma herself still hadn't seen? She certainly hoped so, though her stomach tied in knots at the thought that, as usual, things weren't going to go exactly to plan. Still, she had to follow her instincts. They'd led her thus far and this key _had _to lead to something good. It just had to. In a sort of childish way, Emma now prayed fervently, with every fiber of her being, for _something _good to come out of this rotten day.

With no one around to object (and technically being the only two law enforcement officials in town anyway) she and Graham worked swiftly to dismantle the rusted lock on the library doors and kicked their way inside. The place was cold and damp, the smell of rotting wood and moldy paper permeating the air. Emma looked up sadly, seeing piles of books lying in damp puddles strewn throughout the abandoned building as the violent snow storm swirled in through the open door way. Working against the wind, they pulled the doors shut and then silently moved throughout the old collection of forgotten tomes, feeling almost as if the place itself was haunted.

"See anything?" Emma asked after a short while of searching, taking a flashlight from her parka and shining it down a fairly uncluttered aisle.

"No," Graham held up his palm, blocking the light that she'd unintentionally shined in his face. "Nothin' that looks like it goes with that key anyway."

"Sorry," Emma muttered, lowering the light and shining it elsewhere. Fear sank once more to her gut. "Another wild goose chase," she scoffed, shaking her head as with every passing moment it seemed less and less likely that Gold had told them _anything _helpful.

"Don't give up, Emma," said Graham, meeting her halfway up the aisle.

"Why the hell not?" she countered, throwing her hands up in defeat. "I screwed up this morning with Regina, I'm _no _closer to finding Henry, I got an earful of nonsense that…that _weasel _who, among other things, made it sound like breaking this curse is gonna be fucking _impossible_—"

"Emma—"

"And I'm standing here in an abandoned library with a key that leads _nowhere_ while Regina's out there doing God knows what—"

"Emma!" Graham cried, grasping her by the shoulders and giving her a hearty shake. He stared down at her, heart beating fast as this was the closest he'd been to her since the tree lighting. "You're going to find Henry," he said with absolute certainty.

Emma dropped his gaze, shaking her head, a look of pain and anguish twisting into her face. "You don't know that."

"I do," he said softly, lifting his hand to place his finger beneath her chin. But she sucked in a breath and pulled away. Graham opened his mouth to object, then sadly lowered his hand to his side.

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head. "I-I just can't—"

Graham held up his hand, "I know."

"No," she looked up, her eyes pleading. "You don't. It's just—"

"It's ok, Emma," he assured her. "I understand." She didn't want to touch him again. She couldn't. Because she knew…she knew what she'd find if she looked into his heart. She'd find his love for her…something she couldn't return.

That did it, Emma thought. She officially hated the world. And the world hated her. It scared her how much she wished she could be ok with it. She _wanted _to let him touch her, if only to have someone wrap his arms around her and assure her that there were still some things in this world Regina hadn't taken from her. But she knew her head was far too screwed up right now to handle another vision, _any _vision. And she shook with a shiver not prompted by the cold.

"Graham," she said at last, still searching for the right thing to say, but at that moment she heard a thump. And then a pound. And then a beating along the walls. "D-do you hear that?" she whispered.

Graham was already darting his gaze around the room as they stopped before the old circulation desk. He nodded and switched on his own flashlight. "H'lo?" he called out loudly.

"Hello?!" came a muffled, impatient cry, and the pounding increased.

"Where's it coming from?" Emma hissed and Graham shook his head. The beams of their flashlights danced about the room like search lights, wildly scattering across forgotten shelves and cobwebbed corners. But eventually, both beams fell upon a small closet tucked behind the children's section they'd missed in their initial search.

"'S that you again, John? You son of a bitch!" called the voice, malevolently. "Come on, asshole! We'll just see 'bout that 15 rounds, huh?!"

Sheriff and deputy sprinted to the corner, Emma already withdrawing the skeleton key from her coat and shoving it cleanly into the keyhole. The lock clicked open and she wrenched the door open, letting it fly forward and almost stumbling forward. Having thrown her entire weight at the door, Emma shoved herself inside and a panicky feeling came over her. She was falling. Christ, she was in free fall! And she felt a scream build up in her throat before Graham wrapped one arm up underneath hers and the other clenched over her right shoulder, yanking her backwards. She collapsed into his arms, then turned and gaped at emptiness before her…into a room with no floor.

"Hello?!" called the voice again, though its tone was much less hostile and filled with confusion. "Who's there?!"

Emma and Graham looked at each other, and then shined their lights into the hollow space below. A man was standing in the center of a large open space, part of what looked to be the library's unfinished basement. His jeans were torn and ripped, a ratty parka vest hung loosely from his shoulders. He was squinting in the beam, and his hand shot up to block the blinding light in front of his face. At first, all Emma could make out was a scraggly, half-grown beard. But then he shifted to the side, and his entire face faded into view. Emma blinked in disbelief, staring into an expression as shocked as her own. For standing beneath her, in Gold's makeshift cell …was Michael Tillman.

…

*****Whew! Ok…a couple things here deserve some credit:**

**The lullaby that Ella sings Alexandra is indeed from **_**Sesame Street**_**, a very old lullaby that Ernie sings when he can't fall asleep. It has always been a favorite of mine and if I ever have kids, it's what I intend to sing to them when they're young. As it is, this is the closest I can get right now!**

**The names of the lost boys are taken from nearly every version of **_**Peter Pan **_**that I could dig up: the original tale, **_**Peter Pan in Scarlet**_**, **_**Peter and the Starcatcher**_**, the movie **_**Hook,**_** and **_**Return to Neverland.**_** There are more, unnamed of course, but we probably won't meet them 'till later. And don't worry, Tootles will show up (I didn't want to go for the obvious!)**

**And since I combined Rodmilla de Ghent with Lady Tremaine for Ella's stepmother, it seemed only fitting to mash up the stepsisters as well. Thus, Marguerite is from **_**Ever After **_**and Drizella is from the Disney classic. (Jacqueline and Anastasia have far too much redeeming qualities for what I have in store for the sisters so I gave them a pass).**

**Shout outs to The Pris for keeping it real, Fruitality for such inspiring feedback and Kaylee the Pete whose own lovely, romantic prose inspired me to push myself further this chapter.**

**Lastly, I'd like to credit you – my readers. I got curious and reformatted the word document into which "Toll Bridge" is preciously saved to reflect the font size and margins of a standard mass market paperback – it's over 600 pages long. So thank you thank you thank you for continuing to read and coming back for more! A thousand times thank you and I truly hoped you enjoyed!**

**-Nikstlitslepmur*****


	37. Magic Mirrors

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Magic Mirrors**

_Philip and Lucas were to stay at Agrabah through the entire summit, concluding with a grand victory banquet where the interim ruler chosen would officially be recognized as the prince of Lochmere. Philip had been authorized by his father to recommend two candidates: Andrew, Grand Duke of Rumbasa and Eric, Marquis of Kincanaan. Both were feudal lords in Braemar and had earned the respect of King Hubert's high council. Rushdi of course had put forth his own candidates, but it hadn't taken Philip long to convince the old sultan that young Eric was the clear choice. Though only a Marquis, far below the rank of Grand Duke and both of Rushdi's Mirzas, Eric had proven himself an effective ruler with honorable ambitions, earning both the respect of his class and – more importantly – his tenants. If anyone was going to succeed in easing the minds of Lochmere's war-worn citizens, it would be Eric._

_Negotiations, therefore, had been as much a formality as both he and Lucas had expected, and – knowing the Sultan's intentions of trying to force a union between Jasmine and Lucas – Philip was looking forward to exploring some of Agrabah's more…exotic attractions. But an express messenger from Braemar changed everything when, just hours before the banquet, Philip was urgently summoned home. _

_Now, less than an hour from the city gates of Rosebriar, Philip still couldn't believe how drastically his life had changed in so short a time. Only a few weeks ago, he'd been living the life of a carefree bachelor; the court of Braemar and the pressures of ruling a kingdom, so stagnant in its development and far too rooted in its boring traditions, held no excitement for the young prince who much preferred gallivanting through the counties and carrying out his royal duties when it suited his otherwise adventurous schedule. Now, he was headed for Stefan's palace, dreading every moment he was _away_ from Braemar…for each moment was one less that Philip had left with his father._

_Words couldn't convey the prince's sadness upon hearing the news from his own mother that King Hubert's heart was failing, but this was nothing compared to the depth of despair brought on by the realization that Hubert's health had been in a steady state of decline for almost two years – that all those lectures about taking on more responsibility and learning better how to run the kingdom were not the words of a despot seeking to "spoil his fun" but rather the desperate pleas of an ailing king. How much time he had wasted! How much he had taken for granted that his father and mother would always be there. What a spoiled, selfish royal he'd turned out to be –a stereotype that, Philip realized, owed itself entirely to his own cavalier behavior._

No more_, he'd instantly resolved, upon being so brutally thrust into this personal hell. He would waste no more time in convincing his father that the kingdom was in good hands, that he intended to take his duties seriously and would endeavor to honor the throne of Braemar as all generations of their family had done before him. No more would he waste any time parading himself through the Badlands and picking fights with gypsies and highwaymen, risking his and others' lives for the sake of country brawling. And no more would he put off that which he had been dreading…since he was seven years old._

…

_ Aurora's lady's maid had woken her quite earlier than usual this morning on account of their having received word express that Prince Philip would be paying Rosebriar a rather impromptu visit today. She, of course, did not mind the earliness of the hour, for it allowed her more time to prepare for the arrival, to ensure that the staff will have prepped the proper number of guest chambers and an appropriately grand meal will have been planned. As Rosebriar was a small kingdom, and the family estate far inferior to the much grander castles of Braemar and Ebonshire, such concerns were actively monitored and managed by the princess herself. But Aurora didn't mind; she enjoyed the work. And especially in anticipation of seeing a certain of Philip's traveling companions, news of his arrival had put an extra spring in her step today as she busily prepared the castle for visitors._

_ By midday, all had been prepared and she waited out on the veranda, peaking every so often over the stone balcony overlooking the gardens. This vantage point allowed her the best view of the lane that Philip and…anyone _else _would be traveling. And it wasn't long before she spotted said prince, cantering along atop old Samson. Her heart fluttered in anticipation, watching impatiently for Philip's cousin to emerge over the ridge, but it was soon obvious that Philip was alone – _entirely _alone. Her heart sank. Today would not be the reunion she so longed for after all._

…

_ Philip dismounted and Samson let out an exasperated sigh, as if the burdens weighing so heavily upon his rider's shoulders weighed equally upon his own. "Good boy, Samson," said Philip tiredly as he reached inside his satchel and pulled out a handful of chopped carrots and fed a few to his horse, then handed the rest to the stable boy rushing towards them. "These are his favorite," he said as the boy grabbed Samson's bridle. "See that he—"_

"_We remembered, Your Highness." The boy grinned proudly as he held the rest out for Samson to gobble up. "We stocked the stable troughs full o' carrots and cauliflower 'soon as we received word o' your arrival. We love havin' Samson."_

_ Philip smiled gratefully. "Thank you…umm…"_

_ "Benjamin, Your Highness," he tipped his hat as Samson nuzzled up against his chest._

_ "Benjamin." The prince nodded, then glanced over the boy's shoulder. "Where's Caleb?" he asked, realizing why the boy was so unfamiliar. _

_ "That's my Pa," he replied. "He's down in the stables preparin' the cribs. He likes to send me up the hill to greet our guests now's I'm old enough." _

_ Philip started in surprise, regarding the boy in a new light. "Benji?!" he cried. "_You're _little Benji?"_

_ The boy was beaming. "Yes, Your Highness."_

_ Philip shook his head. "Last time I saw you was—"_

_ "The night my sister took sick, yessir. Long time ago that was. Still remember how you and the duke and Miss Aurora helped save her. Is the duke coming to—"_

_ "Benjamin," came a stern voice emerging from the palace doors. It was Reginald, Stefan's trusted majordomo. "I believe you've taken up enough of the prince's time," he glared narrowly at the boy whose smile immediately faded as he retreated back down toward the stables with Samson in tow. "My apologies Prince Philip," Reginald bowed his head in professional embarrassment as he greeted the prince, as if the boy's casual familiarity with a royal were a blot on his own record of propriety and decorum. _

_ Philip shook his head and chuckled. "It's quite all right, Reg. Can't believe how much he's grown."_

_ "And quite impertinent, I might add," Reginald replied as he gestured toward the castle entranceway and bowed more completely before his royal guest. "Though I suppose as the princess insists that the staff call her _Miss _Aurora, I have no cause to be reproachful." Philip did not miss for a second the stodgy old butler's bitter tone, clearly sign of his objection to Aurora's now quite renowned dismissal of formality within her own home. The man had had the care of King Stefan's estate for as long as Philip could remember. In fact, he and Aurora had spent a good deal of their time together as children playing tricks on the household staff, just to get a rise out of "old Reggie" and see those graying whiskers of his stand on end. _

_ Reginald led Philip to the throne room where King Stefan was finishing up discussions with one of his local farmers. Reginald had advised the king to reschedule the appointment given the impending arrival of such a distinguished guest, but the farmer had requested this audience over a week ago, and Stefan hated to disappoint. Philip watched patiently as Stefan expertly addressed the man's grievances and assured him that he would speak to the landlords who held the farmer's deed and resolve the situation. An expression of immense relief and gratitude split across the man's face as he bowed, clutching his hat to his breast, turned, and hurried out of the room, seeming not even to notice Prince Philip in his rush to run home and report good news to his wife. Philip sighed as Reginald stepped forward and announced his arrival. He only hoped it wasn't too late for his father to teach _him _how to rule with such kindness and dignity as Stefan did. _

_ "Philip my dear boy!" cried the King as he stepped down from his throne. "We were quite surprised by your express this morning, though we are of course delighted to have you."_

_ "Thank you, your Majesty," Philip nodded, meeting Stefan halfway. "I apologize for such late notice but—"_

_ "Not at all, son. You're practically family here, you know," said the king. Philip didn't miss the less-than-subtle emphasis of the word family, which for once in their long history, was all too timely. _

_ "You're too kind, your Majesty—"_

_ "Please, Philip. You're a grown man now, and heir to a kingdom far greater than ours here," he clapped a hand around the young man's shoulder and grinned. "Please call me Stefan."_

_ "Impossible, your Majesty," said Philip, shaking his head with a smile. "You're a far greater man than I'll ever be."_

_ The young prince's subdued tone did not escape Stefan's notice, but he could hardly guess at the change in Philip's countenance from his last visit. Where was the spritely, energetic youth about whom Hubert used to joke constantly would be the ruin of his kingdom? He didn't have time to ask, however, for Philip wasted no time in requesting an audience with his daughter._

_ "Is Aurora at home, your Majesty? I'm afraid I left quite too soon to await a reply to my inquiry."_

_ "She is," Stefan nodded, leading him toward the courtyard. "Reginald, would you please fetch Princess Aurora?" he called after Reggie, then turned back to Philip. "Is everything…all right?" he asked cautiously._

_ "Quite alright, your Majesty. I just…well I think it's just time to—"_

_ "Princess Aurora, your majesties," announced Stefan as Aurora appeared in the great hall. _

_ "Philip," she smiled warmly, walking right over to the prince. Philip dutifully kissed the back of her hand and bowed. "It's been far too long, I think. Don't you father?"_

_ "Indeed," said Stefan, nearly bursting at the seams with the anticipation over what Philip had just hinted. "Last spring's equinox festival I believe. Aurora," he turned to his daughter and clasped her hand in both of his. "Philip has requested a…_private_ audience with you. I thought you might show him your most recent work in the gardens?" _

_ Aurora's stomach flipped over. "Umm…well surely we _all _have much to catch up on and—"_

_ "I will have tea sent out to the courtyard. Philip, you are of course staying for dinner? Leah is having tea with some of the new courtiers and their mothers. I'm sure she will want to see you."_

_ "Thank you, your Majesty. I would be honored." With that, Stefan cleared his throat and beckoned Reginald to follow, leaving Philip and Aurora standing before the courtyard. _

_ "I um," he cleared his throat after a few rather long moments of awkward silence, "You're looking…lovelier every year, Aurora," he managed at last, offering her his arm which she took on instinct, though staring at him as if he'd transformed into a troll._

_ "Th-thank you?" she said as they headed through the courtyard, past the small stone fountain adorned with stone sculptures of Briar Rose, her father's great-grandmother and namesake of their kingdom. They walked in more silence as they reached an even quieter, more secluded area of the gardens, and at last, Aurora tugged on his arm and turned to face him. "Philip," she said, quite stern. "What's wrong?"_

_ He looked down but didn't reply._

_ "Tell me," she implored him. "Did something happen? Is it…" she hesitated, not wanting to appear too eager, but unable to help herself, "is it Lucas?"_

_ His head shot up, "Lucas?" he asked, startled. But of course, she would worry about Lucas. They'd been childhood companions for years. It _must _seem odd to her for him to have arrived without their third 'musketeer.' "No, no, Lucas is fine. He's on his way here, actually. He'll probably arrive by morning."_

_ Aurora fought desperately to contain the elation welling inside her heart, tempering it with the genuine concern she felt for her friend. Lucas _was _coming after all. "Why the delay?" she asked as casually as possible._

_ "He returned from Agrabah very late last night. I wanted to allow him the rest before…well he'll be coming here to help coordinate…" but he let the mysterious matter drop and looked down once more. "Aurora," he said gravely, gesturing towards a small stone bench that glittered in the sun. "Please."_

_ She did as he asked, looking up at him warily, wondering what could have befallen the poor prince to have touched his handsome features with such anguish, such pain. "What is it?"_

_ Philip debated with himself where to start. How could he unload this burden on her so abruptly? How when they had spent years teasing each other, denying the inevitable, going as far as promising each other and _swearing _to their parents that this day would never come? "Aurora, I know this sort of thing isn't…easy for those in our…position," he mumbled, starting to pace before her._

_ Aurora swallowed back a mammoth-sized lump in her throat. "W-what sort of thing?"_

_ He glanced down at her, gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands for support. "Our…arrangement."_

_ Panic consumed her. "Our…oh, Philip what are you—"_

_ "I know that I've kept you and your parents waiting for far too long—"_

_ "Please, don't—"_

_ "And for that, I am truly sorry, but I'm here to settle things at last. To do right by you and your father." The words rushed from his mouth, powering through the terribly clumsy speech that he swore sounded far more eloquent in his head while riding Samson. _

_ Aurora sprang to her feet, hands clasped over her chest. "Y-you can't mean—"_

_ But Philip was already falling to one knee and taking her hand in his, trapping her beside the bench. "I've come to make it official, Aurora. To consent at last to our betrothal and formally announce our engagement to your kingdom." _

_ "Philip!" she cried, wrenching her hand out of his, unable to contain herself any longer. "Are you crazy?" she skirted out from the bench and backed away from him. "You…we…we always said—"_

_ Philip, not at all surprised by her reaction, remained stoically upon his knee, staring straight ahead and looking almost…ashamed. He heaved a heavy sigh. "I know this isn't…ideal—"_

_ "Ideal!" she scoffed, simply beside herself. "You _swore _it would never come to this. We _promised _each other we'd defy the betrothal. You said we'd never allow our parents to make the kinds of decisions that they themselves were—"_

_ "We were kids, Aurora," he glanced up, finally rising to his feet. _

_ "Kids?" her eyes widened in shock. "That's a direct _quote _Philip! From last _year_—"_

"_I know!" he snapped, pinching the ridge of his nose; his sharp tone startled them both for an agonizing silence settled between them. "I know, Goose," he said at last, this time softly, regretfully. "But we can't ignore our responsibilities forever." _

_Hearing her old nickname gave her pause and somewhat deflated her hysteria; years ago, before they'd even met Lucas, she and Philip had been playing down in the village square. He'd broken his ankle that summer and she'd taken to calling him 'Gimp' for the season on account of his lopsided walk. He'd decided to even the score by calling her 'Goose' on account of her 'lanky neck and squawking voice'. _Goose_ and _Gimp_ were inseparable that year, deliriously unaware of what their parents had in store for them (and a good six months away yet from the soon-to-be-teenager's first encounter with an exotic Arabian gypsy). _

_ "Responsibilities, Gimp?" she rebuked him, though she softened her tone. "You?" she offered a gentle, teasing smirk, one she hoped might shed some light on this rather alarming (and quite unsettling) change in her old playmate. "That sounds more like your father." She'd meant it in fun, the way they always teased after their parents' stuffy old ways. But her quip had the opposite effect from what she'd intended. Why the sickly, ashen expression stealing over his face now revealed a side of the prince she'd never thought _existed _let alone seen. "Philip," she whispered, approaching him once more. "What _is _it? What's happened?"_

_ Philip closed his eyes and turned away, though he didn't shudder or retreat when she settled her hand on his arm. "It's_…_my father."_

_ Aurora turned too, every second finding it more and more difficult to breathe. "So this _is _him, then. He finally convinced you—"_

_ "He's dying."_

_ The pronouncement dropped in her gut like an anvil and she sank back to her bench, clutching at her stomach. "No," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. King Hubert. Warm, caring, kind-hearted old Hubert. He'd been like an uncle to her, almost a second father on holidays she'd been invited to spend (chaperoned of course) at Braemar Castle. "What does he…I mean…how long does he—"_

_ "A lot less time than he had when he _first _found out, that's for damn sure!" Philip couldn't help the words from pouring out as he clenched tightly to his holstered sword, still turned from her. He bit hard on the inside of his cheek, immediately cursing himself for speaking ill of his father. _

_ Aurora closed her eyes. "He…didn't tell you right away then," she said. _

_ Philip shook his head. "No," he turned back. "And neither did Mother." _

_ "Oh Philip," whispered the princess, and without thinking, she went to him and pulled him into a hug, wishing with all her heart she could ease his pain. After all, she cared for Philip deeply…she just couldn't _marry _him! "Isn't there anything that can be done? A spell? A potion?"_

_ "He won't hear of it," replied the prince, clenching his fists and shrugging out of her embrace as again he fought against his anger. "He says we have a responsibility to respect and protect magic – whatever the hell _that _means." He turned back to her, looking more helpless than she'd ever seen him. "He says magic is for healing nations and maintaining peace…not cheating death."_

_ She looked down and shook her head, recalling a time when another dear friend of hers had lost a parent. What _was _it about all kings and queens of old? Queen Ava wouldn't hear of magic spells or potions either, and King Leopold would not defy her. The result had left poor Snow mother-less with the most wicked of step mothers on the way to challenge her dreams. _

_ "He's known for over a year," Philip muttered. "A year! Almost two!" he scowled and stepped further down the path, taking them deeper into the gardens. She fell into step beside him. "He knew long before Luc and I left for the Badlands. Before we'd even defeated the Snow Queen."_

_ "He didn't want to worry you—"_

_ "He didn't want to _guilt _me into staying, Aurora. There's a difference. He felt that a son should _want _to stay in his kingdom. Not go off carousing with the gypsies and fortune tellers of Antiok."_

_ Aurora gasped, tugging on his arm and bringing them to a halt. "H-he said that to you?"_

_ Philip paused, then kept walking. "N-no…not exactly. But I know that's what he was thinking."_

_ "You _don't_ know that—"_

_ "I do though. And he's right," he shook his head, blinking back red hot tears threatening to fall. "All that time I wasted away from home, all that time I spent, being…a disappointment." _

_Aurora gulped, unsure of what to say. For there was an unfortunate degree of truth in what he said – Prince Philip was notorious throughout all the realms for his rather cavalier attitude toward king and country. Lucas himself had on more than one occasion confided in her his concerns for his cousin's rather reckless and oftentimes dangerous antics out and about in their land. "Philip," she managed at last, shuffling her feet. "You…you're not a disappointment—"_

_ "Not any longer," he said with sudden resolve. "At least," he stopped and turned to her, "not if I can help it. For whatever time my father has left, I intend to show him. To do whatever I have to do to make sure that he—"he paused and then again took her hands in his own. "That he needn't worry about the fate of his kingdom…or his friends."_

_ Aurora's hands turned cold and clammy, her face pale. "Philip, I—"_

_ "Look," he gave her hands an affectionate squeeze. "I know this isn't…what either of us really wanted. And I know that I've made a somewhat…_less_ than wholesome reputation for myself—" he cleared his throat with a forced chuckle, though he actually seemed quite embarrassed now by the bachelor life he'd so often flaunted to his fellow royals. Aurora felt her neck growing hot. Could he really be so blind? — "but I _promise_ I will be a good husband." _

_He'd stopped them beneath a budding cherry blossom in the most secluded area of the gardens. Ordinarily, she enjoyed getting lost amongst the beauty of the trees, brooks and flowers that Flora had helped her cultivate over the years. But at the moment, the branches and brambles seemed to be closing in, as if ready to suffocate her. "I-I know you would, but—"_

_ "I mean it. I'll be true to you, faithful. You'll want for nothing in Braemar, and Rosebriar will prosper from all my father promised Stefan years ago."_

_ "Philip, please just _listen _to yourself," she pleaded, pulling her hands from his. "You know that I love your father as if he were my own, but _this _won't heal him."_

_ "I know that—"_

_ "A-and what about everything we've always said? That we wouldn't _be_ like our parents. We wouldn't marry out of duty or obligation?"_

_ "We don't _have _that luxury, Aurora," he argued, hardly able to believe how he'd somehow ended up on the other side of this debate. But his time at home had shown him much about the real world. They couldn't afford to be naïve anymore. "Deep down, you must have known that all along. Our subjects have the good fortune of being able to marry for love. _We _don't."_

_ "And what about Snow White?" she countered, fisting her hands upon her hips. "What about her and Prince James? They've been to hell and back for each other! And Thomas? I hear he's convinced King Christopher to let him marry a commoner!" _

_ "Those are exceptions. Not the rule. Can you honestly tell me you would deny the people of Rosebriar the protection and prosperity that is to come of this merger?"_

_ "Oh, so marriage should be about _profit _now?"_

_ He huffed, suddenly impatient. "Don't do that. Don't pretend you don't understand—"_

_ "What does Lucas have to say about any of this?" she snapped, unable to stop herself._

_ Philip reeled backwards. "Lucas? What does it matter what Lucas—"_

_ "He's your best friend, isn't he?" she pointed a shaky finger at her, determined not to reveal that which she was dangerously close to revealing. But she was desperate. "What does _he _think about your decision? Did you inform him of this brilliant plan of yours before you came? Does he know you've decided to marry someone you don't—" she gasped, remembering what Philip had said only a few minutes ago – that Lucas would be here to…'coordinate' something…surely he wouldn't—_

_ "Of course Lucas knows why I'm here!" was Philip's exasperated retort, though he hadn't realized she'd gone completely numb. "He'll be my liaison in Rosebriar when I return to Braemar to prepare for the wedding!"_

_ The princess's throat went dry, and her hands fell limply to her sides._

_ "Aurora?" Philip approached her cautiously. _

_ "L-lucas…approves?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "H-he didn't…try to talk you out of it?"_

_ Philip shook his head, brow creased in confusion. "Why would he? Lucas knows what's at stake here. Besides, of the three of us, he was _always _the one going on about honor and duty. You know that."_

_ She gulped hard as Philip's words sent an icy chill through her soul. Yes…she knew that. She knew that far too well. It's why they'd never told anyone. It's why Lucas had insisted Philip never find out. She'd just never imagined…she could have hardly believed he'd go as far as…_Of course Lucas knows why I'm here…He'll be my liaison in Rosebriar…_Gods and demons, he was coming here to…help _plan _for this wedding?_

_ "Aurora?" Philip asked again, this time forcing her to turn around. When she did, he started at the deflated pallor of her face. "What is it?"_

_ Finally, Aurora managed to shake herself out of her stupor and attempted to salvage what little bit of decorum she could muster. "Nothing, I'm fine…I'm just…I wasn't expecting—this." She stepped forward and folded her hands in his. He was surprised, but waited patiently for her to continue. "You're right of course," she managed a tone that was formal, yet warm. "I'm just…being whimsical."_

_ Philip was accustomed to the strange and irrational shifts in mood of the female psyche, but nothing so abrupt as this. Then again, he knew that Aurora always valued his cousin's advice and considered Lucas quite as much kin as he had. Perhaps cousin Lucas's "approval" – if she wanted to call it that – was the last little bit of convincing she needed? In this respect, he supposed it made sense. Lucas had been quite a brother to them both. "Sooo," he treaded carefully, "you…will consent?"_

_ "Yes, Philip," she rasped, dying inside, "I will marry you…_

By the time Snow had closed the cover of Henry's book on this pivotal chapter of Aurora's story, she felt as though she must have been reading for hours. In reality, it had only been a few minutes since picking up the book and leafing through its pages, biding the time as they all waited in agony for more of their allies to reach the cottage. James had gone to the 'Nolan' house hours ago yet still had not arrived with Abigail. Belle had gone to fetch her father, but neither she nor Adam had heard a word since despite everyone spending shifts on the surface with their cell phones, waiting for _anyone_ to call. And perhaps most disturbingly of all, her daughter – who when last they saw her was intending to pay _Rumpelstiltskin _a visit – had not contacted her once.

In truth, Snow shouldn't have been able to concentrate on _anything _right now, much less the surprisingly complex history of King Philip and his 'sleeping beauty.' But in spite of the trouble brewing in Storybrooke, she couldn't help but get swept up in a tale far more intense and dramatic than the princess in question had ever led Snow to believe. Aurora had of course confessed long ago to spending a few summers of being helplessly infatuated with Philip's cousin, but she'd always chalked it up to girlish fancy. And though privately Snow had always believed it was probably a bit more than just a girlhood crush, she had never imagined Aurora and Lucas were ever actually in _love_. Nevertheless, Henry's book confirmed that the girl had endured true heartbreak that day. Thank the gods it had all worked out in the end, for who could forget news of Philip's heroic triumph over Maleficent and the rescue of Princess Aurora by true love's kiss?

"Something troubles you?" came a deep, tense voice, startling her from reverie. Snow shifted in her window seat and glanced back, rather startled by Prince Adam having actually come _inside _the cottage.

"Why do you say that?"

Adam nodded to Henry's tome as she set it aside. "Belle is the same way with a book. I can tell from across the room whether she feels charmed or excited…or disturbed by its contents."

"Oh," she replied with a light chuckle. "It's nothing really. Just…discovering something new…about a friend of mine."

"That is _the _book then, I presume?" he was staring at it gravely, as if it were a magical talisman to be wary of.

"It is," she reached for it. "Would you like to see?"

"No," he said tersely; she froze. "No thank you. There are…elements of my past I would rather not see recounted from another's point of view."

"Ah," she smiled, wriggling her nose. "Afraid you don't come off very well?"

"On the contrary, Snow. I fear what it leaves out," he said, and started back towards the door.

"What do you mean?" she called after him, placing the book once more on the seat.

He stopped and glanced back. "No one ever knows the _whole _story. Not even Rumpelstiltskin."

Snow sprang to her feet. "You think that's who wrote it?" she asked. She had had her own suspicions of course. And 'Stiltskin was one of them.

"I think whoever wrote that book would have to be incredibly powerful to contrive a child's storybook out of literally hundreds of intersecting fates…and incredibly stupid to write them all down for anyone to see," Adam scowled towards the gold embossed letters gleaming from its cover.

Snow bit her bottom lip. She'd never thought of it that way. But of course, he had a point. Then again… "You know this book helped us convince Belle of who she really was." It wasn't meant as a challenge, though she couldn't quite temper the element of argument from her tone.

Adam sighed. "The book…in _your _hands, Snow. That's what helped restore Belle. And for that I am eternally grateful to _you,_" he paused and pointed back to the heavy volume, "not that."

Snow's mouth curled into a half smile. "Fair enough," she said. Adam always did have an almost clinical aversion to any kind of sorcery. And after Circe, well…no one could really blame him. She was about to say something on the subject when Grumpy came rushing through the grand archway between Snow's corner and the main room.

"Snow, Adam!" he cried, rushing over to the princess and grabbing her elbow. "You need to see this."

Grumpy led them both to the great room where all seven dwarfs had long since ceased their reunion merriment and had started converting the country cottage into a solid base of operations. Gone were all the huge, clunky pieces of furniture, replaced by dozens of modest looking chairs surrounding a giant wagon wheel they'd found in storage. Doc had helped Dopey craft four table legs while Bashful cobbled together a few wooden planks to lay over top, and very soon, Snow had watched her seven friends recreate their war room table, in the center of which Happy laid a map of Storybrooke. Of course, Snow had seen all of this earlier. What in the world was Grumpy—

"Citizens of Storybrooke!" came a loud, piercing voice, so shrill that Snow was physically knocked backward. Adam came up behind her, his whole body even more tense and alert than it had been in the agonizing wait for Belle's return.

"Where's that—"

"Shh!" Grumpy held a finger to his lips, supporting his princess with the other hand and then pointed toward the corner. "There."

Snow followed his gaze to the one remaining piece of furniture in the room the dwarfs hadn't touched: a large, oval mirror, covered from view with a muslin cloth and practically camouflaged into the wall. "No," Snow whispered, "No. She…she wouldn't."

…

It could not end this way. This could _not _be happening. How much more hell were two people to endure before they could be allowed to enjoy more than a few _moments_ of happiness? Such bitter, spiteful questions raced through Thomas's mind as he stared helplessly from the couch at the site of Ella's insidious stepmother inching toward his daughter's playpen. Ella stood across from him, wracked with the same dread as her stepsisters further blocked the path between mother and daughter. "What do you want, Rodmilla?" she spat, determined to keep the fear from her voice.

Rodmilla paused and curled her fingers around the soft bar of the playpen. "I should think that would be obvious by now, my dear. You've been a thorn in my side quite long enough."

"Why?" she spluttered. "Because I didn't want to be your slave anymore? Because I dared to attend a ball I was technically invited to in the first place!?"

"Well, well," sneered Drizella. "Just look who thinks the world revolves around _her_?"

"As if we care about that stupid ball anymore," added Marguerite. "_Your _happy ending threatens Mummy's. And we can't have any more of that!" The two women were practically cackling as they backed Ella into the corner near the fireplace.

"Leave her alone!" cried Thomas, wrenching against the dead weight of his useless legs, straining himself up from the couch but to no avail.

Marguerite glanced over at the crippled prince and laughed. "And just how are you going to stop us, your _brat-ness_?"

"Now now, ladies, there's no need to be boorish," tsked the wicked matron as she bent down and stroked her wrinkled hands over Alex's soft head.

"Don't you touch her!" Ella bellowed with such ire in her voice that baby Alex startled awake and almost immediately started screaming, which caught the daft stepsisters off guard. Ella wasted no time. She grabbed for Christopher's fire poker, wrenched it away from the stand that fell to the stone hearth with a loud metal crash, and swung it around with all her might. Drizella shrieked and ducked out of the way but Ella managed to strike Marguerite across the arm.

"Why you little—!" screamed the girl, clutching her arm to her stomach. "Mummy! She just—"

"Get away from her!" Ella thundered towards Rodmilla, racing towards her crying child. "You get back—"

"Ella watch out!" Thomas yelled, but Drizella had already leapt back into the brawl, seized a heavy, marble bookend from one of Christopher's shelves and struck the girl at the back of the neck with a violent blow. "Noooooooooooo!" screamed Thomas as he watched his wife crumple to the floor like a ragdoll, the fire poker dropping from her lifeless grasp. "You fucking bitch!" he roared, twisting and writhing on the couch, his horrified gaze darting back and forth between his unconscious bride and wailing daughter.

"Such language!" Rodmilla tsked, as if likening Drizella's crippling blow upon her own stepdaughter to the sight of a cat swatting at a fly. "Silly girl, she needn't have bothered," she glanced back up at Thomas who had managed to shift his body enough to face her head on, but still clearly had not the ability to do anything more than watch his family fall apart.

"Mummy, just _look _at this!" Marguerite was still shrieking as Drizella went to her sister's side. "The sleeve is ruined!" she sniffed, fingering the blood-stained tear in her silk blouse.

"Shall we drag her to the car, mother?" chuckled Drizella. "Make sure she pays dearly?"

"Silence ladies," Rodmilla held her hand up, though rather patiently, and smiled at the seething prince. "We are charged with taking only _one _thing precious tonight." She looked back down at the screaming child and grinned. "And I think Regina would agree that a helpless baby is far less trouble than an impudent scullery maid."

Marguerite nodded as did Drizella who shoved Ella's leg aside with the heel of her red leather boot as she stepped past her and headed for the foyer. Rodmilla bent over the playpen, lifted the tear-stricken Alex from her blanket, and turned toward the door to join her daughters. How perfectly it had all worked out. If Ella died from her nasty head-wound, it would the icing on the cake of this phase of Regina's plan. How nice of Gaston to have injured Thomas so badly as to be of no use to his wife or daughter. How silly of Regina to have even suggested that she need more than her own daughters to accompany her on this errand. Why taking a baby from a wench and paraplegic was like taking candy from a—

A sharp pain twisted in her gut and expelled the breath from her lungs. Her eyes bugged out of her sockets as her two daughters turned back to her in alarm.

"Mother!"

"Mummy!" they cried together, pointing at her stomach, and something hot and wet oozed from Rodmilla's mouth. She looked down, confused by the pain, her mind not quite processing this strange prickling sensation in her belly until she shifted little Alex to her right shoulder…and stared down at the iron fire poker protruding from her gut. She tried to scream, but her throat made no sound save for a breathless, dying gasp as she turned her head in shock upon her attacker. "Im-im-possible!" she wheezed.

But there he was. Thomas…standing behind her, his right arm shaking with the pressure of supporting most of his weight upon the bar of the playpen. His other hand – his _injured _hand…steady as a rock, gripping tightly to the handle of the fire poker that he'd plunged clean through her with the skill of a knight. Thomas – Prince Thomas – _standing_.

"Impossible," she whispered again and her knees buckled. Slowly, she slunk to the ground, baby Alex slipping from her grasp. Thomas dropped his weapon and seized his daughter around her waist, plucking her from Rodmilla's arms as the woman sank to her knees, the carpet below pooling with her blood. "You…will…pay…" she coughed and rasped, blood trickling from the corners of her lips as she glared up at him, but the life soon went out of her eyes and with one last wheezing gasp, she stilled.

Alex's cries ceased as she curled into the warm, comforting cradle of her father's shoulder. Thomas raised his steel gaze to Tremaine's daughters wracked with horror by the broken doorframe, clutching to each other as they beheld their mummy, kneeling dead before them, her eyes frozen open in shock. "Get. Out," ordered the prince, and the two women scampered away like frightened squirrels.

With both threats neutralized, Thomas's legs finally gave way and he stumbled to the floor, Alex still cradled against his hip. She started crying again when Thomas collapsed with a thud, but she was all right. She was safe. "Ella," he gasped, staring across the room at his still lifeless wife. "Ella!" he cried again, but he'd spent every ounce of strength and adrenaline he and the gods could summon to save his daughter, and his body simply refused any further cooperation. "Darling, please – wake up!"

"Thomas?" he heard someone yelling as the sound of heavy footfalls raced up the front walk. "Thomas! Ella!" he called again. The prince turned his head just in time to see Christopher rush inside, with Marco right behind him.

"Pop," Thomas gasped in relief.

Christopher's jaw fell open at the scene unraveled before him. His son sprawled on the floor beside Alex's playpen with Alex herself, crying softly beside him. Rodmilla Tremaine seemingly speared through the gut, and Ella— "Ella!" Christopher cried.

"My God," whispered Marco as the two men raced through the foyer to the living room.

"Help her," pleaded Thomas as Marco fell beside them and Christopher went straight for his daughter-in-law.

Marco nodded as he picked Alex off the floor and settled her back in the playpen. "What happened?" he asked, glancing over at what appeared to be Lady Tremaine.

"We were ambushed," Thomas coughed, pushing himself up to a semi-sitting position with his now free arm. "Th-they tried to take Alex. H-how'd you get here so fast?"

"Mitchell—er Christopher sensed something was wrong, my friend. From your voice on the phone. As soon as I arrived we drove straight here in the tow truck. The two young ladies we saw fleeing," he pointed toward the window in the vague direction of the driveway. "Were they—"

"With _her, _yes," Thomas nodded, pointing at Rodmilla. "How is she?" Thomas called to his father, watching as Christopher gently swept Ella's blonde curls to the side, inspecting the wound.

"She's bleeding. Marco, I need a few cloths and some cold water. There's stuff in the kitchen!" he said. Marco went at once as Christopher leaned back over the girl. "Ella? Ella dear, can you hear me?"

Thomas watched in agony, straining to inch himself forward on the carpet, but despite his herculean efforts before, he was completely drained, again feeling helpless. "Is she—"

"No, she's breathing son. It's gonna be all right," he said quickly as Marco returned with a pan of cold water and kitchen rags. Christopher soaked one and applied light pressure to the cut Marguerite had made. "Here, hold that," he muttered to Marco, then grabbed another damp cloth and gently sponged the cool water across her forehead. "Come on, dear. Wake up." And after a few moments, she did.

"Alex," she moaned, as Christopher coaxed her back to consciousness. "Alex," she said again, this time more panicked, and then started fully awake. "Thomas! She's gonna—"

"Shhh, it's all right, Ella. Alex is safe," said Christopher as Ella fully came to. She blinked and juddered her gaze around the room, Marco following her awkwardly as he tried to keep pressure on her wound. Vision still blurry, she turned toward the mechanic, brow creased in confusion. "Marco?" she asked. Then turned, "Your Majesty! Where's—"

"Here," Thomas called to her, relief washing over him as he stretched out his good arm.

"Thomas!" She went instantly to his side, barely noticing the expired stepmother whom gravity had finally overwhelmed and had collapsed in a crumpled heap on their floor.

Marco followed her over and handed her the damp cloth. "Here, dear," he said softly and placed the cloth back at her neck. "Keep pressure on it."

Ella nodded and reached back with one hand, smiling gratefully at her husband's boss and then turned back to her prince. "How did you—where—" she ran her gaze up and down his injured body, wondering how and when he'd gotten off the couch. But it was clear from the position of the fire poker and Tremaine's body what must have happened.

"I couldn't let them take her," he said, nodding behind him where they could see Alex squirming in her playpen, giggling and rolling around in her blanket.

Ella looked to her daughter then back to her husband. Of course, she thought, tears welling in her eyes. She reached down and laced her fingers with his.

"What happened, son? Why was she here?" asked Christopher, rinsing off his hands in the bowl of water that Marco had brought.

"They came for Alex. Almost right after you called," he explained as Ella drew his arm up to shoulder his weight and Marco moved to help him with the other side.

Christopher glanced down Tremaine. "Did she say why?"

"The same reason she does everything," said Ella, venomously. "To destroy our happiness."

"No," Thomas shook his head, squeezing tightly to her hand as they settled him into the recliner near the playpen, moving the group even further away from Tremaine's body. "No she said something about Regina. About needing to take something…precious."

Christopher started. "Something precious?"

"Yeah," nodded Thomas, glancing up at his father. "Does that mean something to you?"

"It…I don't know," he scratched the back of his head, as if straining to remember something. "It might, I—"

But a loud, shrill voice interrupted them from the other end of the room, sending a palpable chill through the house. "Citizens of Storybrooke!" they heard.

Ella was the first to see. "Look!" she pointed up at the mirror above the fireplace mantle. And there, in the 'Hermans'' living room, smiling through the looking glass, was Regina.

…

Storybrooke's Health and Fitness Center was perhaps the only place Jade Pilfer truly felt herself anymore. Her house had become a store of bitter memories; regardless of how many pictures she took down or trinkets she pitched, the place still reminded her of her failed marriage. Fisk's place was no better, for the mild comfort she'd found in her father's doctor paled in comparison to the persistent feeling that she was still betraying Shane somehow. And since Shane had returned to his sordid father's way of doing things, Jade never did feel truly at ease about town, feeling somewhat tainted by her association with some of Storybrooke's seediest characters.

So the young trainer had taken to finding sanctuary in her gym, often heading to the fitness center hours before her classes started or clients ever arrived. Inside, surrounded by mats and weights and exercise apparatuses, a quiet serenity of spirit overwhelmed her otherwise chaotic jumble of emotions and allowed her the freedom to breathe. For some reason, for as long as she could remember, she'd only ever been able to achieve total calm when in a state of the deepest control, discipline and meditation required to practice martial arts.

Jade breathed in through her nose and out her mouth, eyes closed as she stepped through a series of positions and movements that gradually ebbed the stress from her body. There were too many things going outside these walls which frightened her – Graham's disturbing visit yesterday, her father's steadily declining health, news that her ex-husband was somehow involved in that incident behind Garcon's the other night. In here, she could tune them out. In here, as she thrust and parried invisible adversaries, she could fool herself, at least for a couple hours, that she had any sort of control over her fucked up life—

"Still dropping your shoulder, I see," came an intrusive voice, startling her from her drill.

Jade stumbled forward and whipped her head around, stunned by the very sight of her ex-husband leaning against one of the center's white concrete pillars. "What are you doing here?" she muttered, turning away immediately. Not fair, she thought. This was _her _place. Her _one _place—

"Came to see you," he replied, arms crossed, still not budging from the pillar.

Jade looked down and shook her head, pulling at the support tape wrapped around her wrist. "Hiding from the sheriff, more like it," she spat.

Aladdin flashed her a half grin, but she didn't see it. "Actually I went to _him._"

"He said you beat up Sean Herman behind Garcon's the other night," she said, still not glancing up.

His smile faded. "You really believe _I_ did that?"

Finally, she lifted her gaze to his own and sighed. "No," she admitted softly, though she looked away again right away, and an awkward silence followed. Shane was capable of many things, but ruthless violence was not one of them. "So why _are _you here?" she asked, eventually.

"I told you. I wanted to see you."

"Well I don't wanna see _you._" Jade kicked her gym bag open and threw the wadded up support tape inside.

"Jade—" he started forward.

But as she straightened up from her bag and hoisted it across her shoulder, she stubbornly shook her head and held out her hand to stop him. "No, Shane? I'm serious. Unless you're here to pay back _any _of the money your father _stole _from us? I'm not interested ok? It's over. _You _made that pretty clear when you walked away. And now you have to _let it _be over." With a sharp tug, she yanked the zipper on her bag closed and turned towards the locker room.

Aladdin practically leapt toward her (not that her disappearing into the ladies' locker room would have stopped him). "What if I don't want it to be over?" his hand closed around her wrist and turned her back around. But she quickly shrugged away from his grasp.

"Yeah, well it's too late. I'm with someone else."

He stumbled back, unable to keep from gritting his teeth at the mere mention of his wife's unfortunate entanglement with Rushdi's insidious vizier. He knew deep down that were Jasmine awake, she could never even stomach the very thought of an affair with Jafar. But it made his blood boil nevertheless to see her throw it in his face as if she were proud of it. "Oh yes, I heard. The good doctor, _Fisk,_" he said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Yes, in fact," she stared him down. "The _good _Doctor Fisk. The one who's actually been _with _me as my father gets sicker, or did you forget that _I_ have a dad whose problems are actually _beyond _his control?"

"Jade, Fisk is the reason—"

"Did you forget that while you were out helping _your _father deal drugs—"

"There were never drugs—" he rolled his eyes.

"_My _father's been lying in a hospital bed? Getting worse every day?" She skirted by him, refusing to let him get close as she rushed back out to the gym floor.

"Jade," Aladdin tried again, rubbing the back of his neck. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. Waking her would be easy if he could only get close enough. "Look, I know I've put you through a lot, but—"

"A lot?" she whirled on him, dropping her bag back to the mat with a clunky kerplop. "A _lot_?" her hands came to her hips. "A 'lot' is where you park cars, Shane. Try _hell. _Hell is what you put me through."

"Jade—"

"_Hell_ is when your husband leaves you in the middle of a fight and never comes back," she wagged her finger toward his chest, advancing slowly.

"Just hear me—"

"_Hell_ is spending every night in that empty, crummy little house, wondering if you were even still alive."

"Jade—"

"_Hell _is finding out that not only are you alive, you're actually _helping_ your father run his gambling operation, and eventually dabbling in drugs!"

"Uckgh! There weren't drugs!" he pulled at his hair in frustration, but she was on a roll.

"_Hell_ is coming home one night and finding my television missing. My _television _Shane! And no signs of breaking and entering which means you took _your_ key," she inched toward him, jabbing her hand in a key-like motion as she approached, "_waltzed _right into our house so you could pawn it to pay off _more _debts! And now you're, what? Looking for yet _another _second chance?" she spread her arms off, shrugging helplessly toward the ceiling. "How many more do you think I have _in _me Shane?"

The way her voice cracked when she said it silenced him, and for a split second, Aladdin could feel the inklings of shame creeping into his soul, but he dismissed them almost immediately. He wasn't at all interested in feeling guilty about something that some psychotic mad woman with a god-complex cooked up two realms away. Their fractured identities were a by-product of this rather brilliantly constructed curse, a curse he was certain even Genie would be impressed by. And besides, 'Shane's' decision to go rogue, to live under the radar of Storybrooke's most watchful villains, had everything to do, he was certain, with his own magical status and ease of awakening. As 'Shane', he'd gained some very valuable information about those in Regina's closest circles, and he wasn't about to lament his alter ego's almost prescient awareness that there was much to discover beneath the surface of this town. Besides…Jasmine was the strongest woman he'd ever known. She could handle just about anything, and she would quickly recover from this. In fact, he thought amusedly to himself…he shuddered to think what would become of the "good" Doctor Fisk once Jasmine got hold of him. "One more," he said quietly, dropping his hands casually into the pockets of his suede jacket.

Jade started. "What?"

"One more second chance," he said, closing the gap between them, the corner of his mouth lifting in an almost coy half-grin. "That's all I'm askin' for."

Jade's jaw tightened and she clenched her fists, glowering at her ex-husband, incensed by the way he appeared to think he could simply charm his way in again. Well not this time. Never again. "Please leave," she said icily, and turned to the side, crouching beside her bag on the floor.

"Can't do that," said Aladdin, still moving closer.

"Oh yeah, why's that," she muttered, not looking up as she rummaged through the bag, looking for nothing in particular.

"Rule number three."

She froze, an odd sensation prickling at the back of her neck. "What?" she gasped, glancing up at last.

Aladdin paused beside her, holding her gaze and not quite smiling as he nodded toward one of 'Jade's' motivational signboards posted on the wall beneath the roster for her self-defense class. And there it was, in bold blue lettering: _Never run from a fight you know you can win._ It was an odd edict for a self-defense class, one Aladdin doubted very many women in this world would truly ascribe to since as far as he could tell, self-defense in this world amounted to putting oneself in the best position to run away. Then again, Jasmine was no ordinary teacher, and his heart swelled with hope at the sight of such an obvious echo of their past here in Jade Pilfer's gym.

Jade's head turned as she slowly rose to her feet and read the board, but she scoffed as soon as her eyes glossed over the old poster. "_This_ is what you call winning?" she turned back, seized her bag, and spun on her heel once more.

"I do," Aladdin called after her, following her to the door that led to a small office for her training staff. "Because I know that in about 10 seconds, you're not gonna care about _any _of that stuff. The television, the money, my father, the gambling, none of it."

Jade's eyes flashed with anger. "_Not _gonna care? If you seriously think that I could possibly just _forget _about you abandoning me then—"

"None of it, Jade," he persisted, backing her against the office door. "I guarantee it. Because I am _literally _not the same man who walked out on you."

Her heart was pounding now with rage. Had he lost his mind? "Are you actually _doing _the drugs you're selling now?" she spat, fighting to maintain her resolve.

"Oh for God's sake!" Aladdin threw his hands in the air, shook his head and then grasped her by the arms. "A- there were _never _any drugs. That's a bullshit rumor and you know it. B- your _precious_ doctor Fiskis the same man who agreed to _hurt _your father if I didn't confess to beating up Sean Herman, and C—" he took a deep breath, his gray gaze dropping from her emerald eyes to her lips, "—shut up."

Jade's breath hitched in her throat as her mind told her to spin away, or hell even hook his knee and drop him right there. Too many times she'd allowed herself to believe that _this _time would be different. _This _time, he would change. It was an age-old routine and she'd vowed to never again let herself fall for it. Then again…Shane typically came to her full of self-loathing, guilt, begging for forgiveness. The Shane that stood before her now evinced not a trace of shame or remorse. In fact, he seemed downright cocky. Jade should be furious. She _was _furious! So why, she asked herself, didn't she move?

"F-fisk agreed to…w-what?" she stumbled, trying to wrap her mind around something concrete, but she felt her resolve ebbing away the closer he drew.

"Seriously, Jade," he chuckled, lifting one hand from her shoulder to cup her cheek. "Shut up." It had been far too long since he'd kissed his wife. Almost four years, he thought, if his math was right. And before that, Aladdin knew the memories had been fake. So as he darted his head down and slanted his lips over hers, working his fingers through her loose black braid while wrapping his other hand around her waist, it felt not unlike the first time he'd kissed her in their tower, with ages of frustration pent up inside them both, ready to burst free. He felt her shoulders relax almost instantly as she stepped into the kiss, her hands snaking up his chest and around his neck, pulling him toward her. Brazenly, she parted his lips with her own, urging him to go deeper, letting instinct guide her as she pressed herself up against his chest, settling into an all too familiar embrace. God, she felt good. Aladdin tightened his hold at her waist, wrapping both arms around her, a tacit promise never again to let go, and when at last she drew breath, dipping her head back and allowing him to kiss and nibble along her jaw line, finding that sweet spot just below her ear, he whispered her name – her real name – and waited to hear his in reply.

Jade froze, her muscles tensing up almost immediately as she wrenched her head backward and glared at her ex-husband. He was flummoxed to say the least, and had the gall to look totally ignorant of his idiotic blunder. "And just _who _may I ask is _Jasmine_?" she seethed, her voice low and unforgiving.

Aladdin gaped down at her, eyes popped out in utter shock. "Wh-what?" was all he could manage. She wasn't awake! Why wasn't she awake? True love's kiss, right? Wasn't that supposed to—

"Shane!" she cried in alarm, her expression abruptly changed as her eyes darted over his shoulder. But her warning came too late, and he hadn't even fully turned before the blunt, silver knob of a cane came down like a hammer at the back of his head and sent Shane hurling toward the ground.

Jade watched him fall as if in slow motion and stood momentarily petrified by the sight of his crumpled form on her floor. His bulky jacket fell open and she noticed something strange peeking out of the inside pocket. But her view of it was soon blocked and she found herself staring into the eyes of Shane's assailant, gasping as her gaze ran up and down the figure of a very tall, very gangly man-in-black clutching the silver handle of a long black cane.

"Hello _princess_," said the man in a voice that almost crooned. Yes, this one thought himself very smooth.

"What the hell—"

"So sorry to interrupt your little reunion, my dear," spoke the man, his thin lips curling into a devilishly creepy smile. "But I'm afraid your husband's awakening must be short lived." Swiftly, he raised the cane over his head once more, turned to Shane and swung down.

"No!" she yelled, springing into action. She lunged toward him, closing her grip around the cane and yanked hard, throwing the slick creeper off balance just as he was about to deal Shane another blow. The weapon narrowly missed and she stumbled backward, cane still in tow and twisting it behind the attacker's back.

"Well," said the man as he released the cane and dusted himself off. "So the rumors are true. A princess with a punch." He certainly didn't _look _to be one of Clive Pilfer's loan sharks come to collect. As he regained his balance, he fastidiously took the time to adjust his crisp pin-striped vest and black tie. In fact, if he hadn't just attacked her husband, Jade might have found the man quite charming.

"Who are you?" she demanded, flipping the cane over in her hands. The feel and weight of it was familiar to her as she locked her stance, preparing to strike again. Why did this position feel so comfortable? So controlled?

"The name's John. Honest John, if you like," John tipped an imaginary hat, paused, then shrugged. "Although, it's Honest John even if you _don't _like, I suppose. And still, to some people, I _have _been known as Ol' Foulfellow. To others, just Foul—"

"Whadyou want with my husband?" Jade barked impatiently, clenching tightly to the cane. She was frightfully aware that while she'd prevented what could have been a fatal blow, this John person was now standing between her and the unconscious Shane.

"Ah, yes, well," John cleared his throat, darting his gaze back and forth between the sultana and her prince. "_That_ depends on who you ask." Slowly, he backed up closer to the street rat, eyeing the special bit of tin peeking out from his jacket. "You _might _say I was sent here to take something precious from _you_, Jasmine," he gestured toward her with an almost stately bow.

Jade started at hearing the strange name again, but took care not to reveal her surprise. "Something precious?" she drew back the cane as if winding up to strike.

"Yes," he nodded, getting ever closer. "In which case, I simply need to throw this old street urchin over my shoulder and be off, provided you do me the courtesy of staying unconscious once I knock you out."

Jade clenched her jaw. As _if_! "And what makes you think—"

"Ah-ah!" John held his hand up as he crouched and reached slowly toward Shane's jacket. "But if you ask me, Regina's is a tired agenda. And frankly, that dog just won't hunt."

Jade blinked. The idiom meant nothing to her, but there was no mistaking the object that John pulled from Shane's coat: an old, dusty, copper-plated lamp.

"So," John flipped the antique up into his hands and rose to his feet. "Seeing that I'm currently under new management, if you'll just content yourselves to be rid of this rusted old thing, I'll leave you and your precious Aladdin alone and the two of you will be free to romp all over these sweaty floors together to your hearts' content." He flipped her a mocking salute and turned toward the exit.

Jade's head meanwhile was spinning. First 'Jasmine'. Then Aladdin? And now there was this oriental-looking _lamp_? So this guy _wasn't_ some underground rival of Shane's father. He was just certifiably nuts! Still, he was leaving, and of no further threat to her or Shane. So if he wanted to indulge in some deluded fantasy that he'd just stumbled into an old Disney movie, that was _his _problem and—

"Jasmine," croaked Shane, picking his head up off the floor and reaching toward John. "Don't…don't let him take the—"

Jade shrieked as that bit of prickling she'd felt at her neck before started burning and something white flashed before her eyes. A vision seemed to overlay itself before the scene – a vision of Shane, laying just as he was now, arm-outstretched, reaching in the same direction toward John. But it wasn't John! Another gasp. The man towering over her husband was laughing maniacally, his red, serpent-like eyes trained on her—

"_Now you will see how ssssssnake like I can be!" cackled Jafar, splaying his long, thin fingers around the precious lamp and raising it above his head. Red smoke brewed beneath his feet and rose from the floor as, from toe to crown, a hideous transformation begun to unravel before her. Jasmine clutched tightly to her rattans, glanced at her fallen tutor, then lunged toward the lamp—_

"Cheerio, all!" laughed John as he lifted the lamp as Hamlet might raise a skull before his famous soliloquy. Jade took one more look at Shane, then broke the cane over her thigh into two pieces, clutched them close with the newly splintered ends aimed at the villain and lunged toward the lamp—

"_Not so fast, princccccccccess," Jafar hissed as the tail end of his mutated body slithered toward her and swiped at her feet. But the sultana was much too quick for the old vizier. She leapt over the tail, rolled along the floor and sprang right back up without a second's interruption to her rhythm—_

"Now, now, I've never hit a woman," said John, bracing himself for what he was certain would be an easy deflection. "But that doesn't mean I—"

Jade wasn't listening. Old-Honest-Johnny- Foulfellow, or whatever the hell his name was, didn't exist. He wasn't a person. He was, a target—

_Jasmine was nearly there, dodging every swipe of Jafar's tail with ease, allowing herself even a moment's worth of amusement at how the old man couldn't possibly have selected a _less _effective creature to transfigure into. Honestly, a snake? No feet, no legs, and both hands occupied by keeping hold of the lamp – piece of cake for Aladdin's finest pupil. Using one ill-timed swipe of his body to gain footing, Jasmine leapt atop the middle portion of Jafar's lengthy tail, sprung towards his torso and swiped cleanly at his exposed neck—_

Jade knew she only had one shot at this, so it had to be precise. Luckily, John didn't seem to take her very seriously, so while she barreled for the lamp, keeping her eyes glued to the curious looking object, she also closely noted the way his body shifted, preparing quite obviously (and stupidly) to shield _it _from her attack rather than himself. _Amateur, _she thought, and before John knew what hit him, Jade subtly shifted directions, aiming her rattans at his bread basket and swiping clean across his gut. The effect was exactly as intended. John reeled backward, caving in on himself as the breath went out of him and the lamp flew out of his hands. The man cried out in agony, clutching his stomach and muttering obscenities. The lamp clattered to the mat, falling with a faint plop by Shane's feet. The threat was neutralized…but the woman was just getting warmed up.

"Y-you wretched little—" John started to say but he was abruptly silenced when the silver handle of his own cane crashed down on his back. Jade smacked and ducked and thrust and jabbed at absolutely every vulnerable spot on his body until at last, she spun towards him, both sticks whirling towards his face and knocked him to the ground. And there he lay, unconscious and sprawled unceremoniously on Jade Pilfer's gym floor.

Aladdin coughed, bracing his forearm on the mat and propping himself up to get a good look at what was left of Honest John. He almost didn't believe the man had lost at his own con…almost. He did make the mistake of going up against Sultana Jasmine, after all. Even if she still didn't remember who she—

"Aladdin?" she said, her voice shaking as she stood before him still clutching the shattered cane, her eyes piercing through his soul.

Aladdin glared at her, searching her emerald gaze for renewed recognition, and realized beyond a doubt that she was back. She was whole again. She was Jasmine. "I shoulda known," he shook his head, his shoulders heaving with chuckles. Wincing, he reached back and massaged the nasty bump just below his hairline. "True love's kiss, pfft," he laughed and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He peered up at his wife, resting his forearms atop his knees and then pointed up at her. "You were never _really _gonna be yourself again unless you got to beat the _crap _out of someone."

Jasmine dropped her sticks to the floor, still gaping, still a bit off balance from the wave of memories crashing back into her mind. But her husband's voice kept her grounded and his teasing quip struck a familiar chord. Finally, a wide grin split her face and she dropped to her knees. "Aladdin," she said again, breathless with relief. His arms parted and she threw herself into them, laughing outright as she tackled him back to the floor. "Long time no see," she mewed, resting her arms on either side of his head, pressing him back against the mat. Lovingly, she sifted through his wild, black hair, then grazed the backs of her fingers down his cheek. "Missed you, Professor."

Aladdin slid his palms all the way up her back and over her shoulders. "Missed _you_, Princess," he whispered as she dipped her head down and kissed him, long and sweet, relishing in the taste of him, appreciating the reunion far more than her overly dramatic Storybrooke counterpart whom she already detested for holding anything against her husband. Genie had prepared them for this. When news of the coming curse reached Agrabah, Jasmine and Aladdin sent Genie to New Gaia right away to help James and Snow discern what they might be in for. When the 'big blue guy' (as Aladdin affectionately called him) returned, he had warned them this could happen: false identities, missing memories, a prison unlike any other – the worst kind really: the kind from which no one even realizes the need for escape.

"Tell me," said Jasmine as she drew back, letting his head fall gingerly back to the mat. "Was it really 28 years?"

Aladdin sighed, smile fading as he nodded. "Definitely seems like it. The girl's name _is_ Emma. And she did look to be about 27-28."

"Gods and demons," she murmured, gazing off to the side as she untangled herself from his arms and sat back on her haunches. Aladdin pulled himself upright again and tucked one leg beneath him as he sat staring at the still unconscious con man in the corner. "Almost three decades," she whispered. "Can you believe it?"

He shook his head, lacing his fingers through hers and lightly kissing the backs of her fingers.

"Oooh!" she grunted, yanking her hand back suddenly and springing to her feet. "When I get my hands on Jafar, I'll—"

"Uh-uh!" he held waved his hand at her and stood up as well. "Not if I get there first."

She threw him a sardonic grin but then shuddered in disgust, almost as if trying to rid herself of the memory of having been with the treacherous vizier. She crossed her arms and let out a huff and a sigh as Aladdin came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle.

"Hey," he murmured against her skin as he rested his chin at her collarbone. "It wasn't you all right?" he kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and she relaxed back into his chest as he tightened his hold at her waist. "Besides, if _I _were married to a rat like 'Shane Pilfer' I'd a gotten a divorce too."

She snorted an inaudible laugh but her eyes were still glued to the con man lying in a heap in the corner. "Did you catch what he said before? 'Bout taking something precious?"

Aladdin took a step to the side and angled his gaze around her. "Something precious?" he nodded toward the lamp lying a few feet away.

Jasmine shook her head. "No," she said pensively, stepping out of his embrace to retrieve the antique. She handled it carefully, as if it were made of fragile china rather than a sturdy tin. "No, he wasn't talking about this. He was talking about you." She turned to meet his gaze.

"Me?"

She nodded. "Said all he had to do was haul you over his shoulder and," she paused and glanced back at John, "he'd have completed his agenda."

Aladdin closed his fingers around the cherished item and tucked it safely in the crook of his arm, very careful not to brush off the dust or smooth his palms too slowly around its base. "Then why'd he go for the lamp?"

"I don't know," she shook her head, looking back at her husband. "But he mentioned something about Regina's agenda being…old o-or tired or something. That he was under new management."

"New management?"

"Yeah. Like he'd just…changed allegiances."

Aladdin scoffed, glaring down at the mat. "That doesn't surprise me. John Foulfellow always plays to the highest bidder. If he's decided Regina's errands aren't worth pursuing anymore, that means someone out there is willing to pay him a lot more."

"Someone…who wants the lamp?" she asked warily, stepping toward it,

"Yes," he said gravely, glancing down at her with sudden clarity. "And I'm pretty sure I know who."

Jasmine looked up at her husband and shivered at his dark, worried gaze. She was about to ask, when they heard a sudden, piercing cry.

"Citizens of Storybrooke!" bellowed the voice of Regina Mills. Both royals of Agrabah jumped at the sound and turned toward the large wall of mirrors on the far wall of Jasmine's gym. And there she stood – the queen, or rather multiple, full-length, towering images of her plastered all over the wall.

…

Snow and the rest of those gathered in the cottage stood before the covered mirror, staring at it and quite scared to move. But Regina's voice soldiered on: "For most of your sakes, I strongly recommend that you don't try to figure out how it is that your mayor is appearing to you this way. In fact, if you value your sanity, you will convince yourself this is a dream and go back to your peaceful, uneventful lives in our quiet little town. Those of you out there for whom this message is _truly_ intended? Well…you know who you are."

"Lift the cover!" whispered Sneezy.

"Are you kidding?" Snow hissed back. "She'll see into the cottage! She'll know it still exists."

But Adam shook his head, stepping out from behind them. "She's projecting her image into every reflective surface she can. Look," he muttered and pointed toward the dwarfs' kitchen where twisted, upside-down images of Regina were already peeking out of Bashful's collection of silver spoons. Adam reached for the muslin covering and yanked it off, revealing 'Mayor Regina' in all her splendor before them. Some in the room gasped, but no one dared contradict the warrior prince. "Trust me," he said gravely, his piercing gaze aimed at the image of the odious queen: she who was to blame for his near-thirty-year incarceration. "I know a few things about magic mirrors. With that many projections? We can see her, but she can't see us."

Grumpy opened his mouth to reply, but Snow held her arm out to stop him as Regina continued. "You no doubt think you've won," she said as she stepped down from what looked to be a makeshift pulpit. "Restoring a few pitiful happy endings, relishing in how you think you may have fooled me." Regina dismissed each point with a casual wave, and Snow gulped hard at the cruel familiarity of her step-mother's airs and graces. There was nothing subtle in her walk – she moved just as righteously and without mercy as she always had as queen – how strange to realize now how different her persona as mayor had truly been; for though Mayor Mills' countenance couldn't exactly be mistaken for warmth, she had never, in _this_ world, appeared so…evil.

"Your Highness!" came a breathless call from beyond the dwarfs' front door. It was Frederick returning from the surface with Archie. "We've got a message from King Christopher," he said, holding up his cell phone. "They've—"

"Shhhh!" came the collected response as both he and Archie noticed Regina's unwelcome presence in the cottage.

"Allow me to put an end to that wretchedly naïve supposition," the queen continued, and all who watched held a collective breath as she stepped into view of a very large, golden chest, with one of the drawers already opened. Regina reached inside and withdrew a glowing, pulsing heart.

"No!" Frederick cried, launching himself forward. Archie clapped his hands down on the knight's shoulder and held him back from the mirror. After all, what did the poor lad intend to do? Shatter it?

"I imagine you all know what this is? But I very much doubt you can guess among the _hundreds _I have who this one might belong to."

"She wouldn't," whispered Doc, whose sage old face, for the first time in as long as Snow had known him, looked completely petrified. "Not in front of the whole of Storybrooke. All those confused, frightened people. She'll have a riot on her hands!"

"She doesn't care about them," Snow said darkly, arms folded over her middle. "She never did."

"Now for those of you out there thinking that I'm about to play some sort of massive bluff, I beg you to ask yourself: do you _really _believe we wouldn't have planned for this? Do you honestly think I would have left Storybrooke and its most…famous residents in the hands of fate alone? At this very moment anyone even _suspected _of having allied themselves with you are being rounded up, and those who run will be hunted…like wolves. And in case you think there's strength in numbers, I want to remind you that _I _am the one running this show. _I _am the one running this town…and I can wake people up too."

Happy glanced up warily at his princess. "W-whatdya think _that _means?"

It was Adam who answered. "It means we now have far more enemies than we have friends," he growled, looking about ready to drive a hole in the wall with his fist.

"You may stay in hiding if you wish, but I will not rest until every last one of you is in my grasp. And since you know you cannot exist beyond the borders of Storybrooke…you have very little choice. Either turn yourselves in…or wait to be captured. Let the games begin." She made as if to turn away from whatever magical contraption was, in a sense, recording her. Then she paused and turned back toward the surface of the mirror, some poor soul's heart still gripped tightly in her hands. "Oh, and one more thing. I. Want. Emma. Swan."

Snow's agonizing cry echoed through the cottage as she held tightly to Grumpy's arm.

"She is after all the key to your undoing. If you value your own lives, you will get her to sacrifice hers. And for every day that she does _not _come to me?" she paused and brought the heart before her audience, watching it pulse helplessly between her fingers. "Well…" she tsked. Then she squeezed, hard.

"NO!" Frederick wailed, wrenching free from Archie's grasp. "Murderer!" he leapt back toward the door, ready to barrel up the stairs.

Adam grabbed hold of his wrist and yanked him back. "Don't be a fool!" he bellowed.

"A fool?! Let go of me!" he struggled to break away from the warrior's grip but Adam was far too strong for the noble knight. "She's got Abigail's heart! That could be Abby's!"

"Even if it is, you'll never get to her in time! Look—" he cried, though his own imposing voice cracked with the horror of watching Regina crush the life out of the innocent's heart…then slowly crumble it to ash.

"Noooo!" screamed Frederick, simply beside himself, half of the dwarfs and Archie rushing over to the poor knight to contain his rage. But not Snow. Snow could only stare at Regina. The queen let the dust breeze away from her palms, staring at what was left with an odd look on her face. In the spine-chilling silence that followed, all that could be heard was the shuffle of her feet along the floor of her treasure chamber as she stepped slowly up to the golden chest and closed the drawer. "You have 24 hours," she said. And then she was gone.

…

*****All right, so – how've you all been? Sorry 'bout the very long hiatus. I'm currently in the middle of staging two separate high school musicals AND trying to get my poor flag corps ready to perform in Florida over spring break (oh and not to mention all the essay-grading and crazy shenanigans that go along with my day job as an English teacher)! None of which are really valid excuses for taking such a LONG break and leaving you with such ridiculous cliff hangers as the last chapter! (my bad)**

**So I tried to ease your mind about a few of them here. I truly hope you enjoyed Thomas's little burst of adrenaline and Aladdin and Jasmine's hook up (they're quickly becoming two of my favorite peeps to write, so I hope you're liking where their adventures have led them thus far). **

**And no worries, I'm not about to leave Emma and the newly discovered Tillman alone any longer – they're coming up. As well as Belle, Matt and a reveal of what exactly is going/about to go down with Circe at the hospital.**

**Shout outs to all my usual suspects – and congrats to sgcycle for completing Mermaid's Tail! Finishing that story is my very next stop! So you should all go check it out! It's what Once and Ariel fans everywhere have been waiting for!**

**-Nikstlitslepmur*****


	38. No More Happy Thoughts

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**No More Happy Thoughts**

Clancy wasn't sure if it was fate or just dumb luck that led him straight from the hospital to the edge of the square by the old library; then again, he'd never much cared about the whys and wherefores. As it was, he was thankful to see _anyone _on the street as he approached what were obviously the sheriff's and deputy's cars. Storybrooke seemed strangely quiet today. Not a soul out and about on the street, and though much of that could be attributed to the snow, he was surprised to find so much of the town so empty.

Of course, none of that mattered once he spotted Emma herself emerging from the abandoned library, rushing over to the trunk of her little yellow bug. "Swan!" he called out from his window and aimed his truck toward the parking spot directly behind hers.

Emma whirled around when she heard her name and openly gaped as the fireman's pickup headed towards her. What the hell was he _doing _here? "Clancy?" she yelled back as he parked the truck and hopped out, jogging towards her and holding the collar of his jacket over his mouth to cut through the violent winds of the snow storm.

"Emma, we need to talk," he started, but then stopped as he saw her reach for a pile of old sheets buried in her trunk. "What are you doing?"

"Now's not really a good time, Matt," she said, sniffling and coughing in the winter wind as she yanked and struggled with the tangle of linens from the car.

"Um," he leaned over and peaked inside. "Why do you need a bunch of old sheets?" he asked, now insanely curious.

"I told you it's not a good time," she huffed and continued to tug but the bundle wouldn't move. Matt wasn't surprised. It looked as if she'd tried to shove the entire contents of an average 2-bedroom apartment in there. He stared at her, leaned against the bumper and waited for a better answer.

Seeing he had no intention of moving, she sighed. "We need a makeshift rope ok? We…found someone."

Matt sprung to his feet once more. "Your son?" he asked, truly hopeful that the young deputy had found the boy whose absence had her so crazed this morning.

Having honestly forgotten he even knew about Henry, Emma's eyes widened in shock, and then she softened, genuinely touched. "No," she frowned and started tugging again. "Someone…_else_ who's been, well…missing for a while now. Someone's been keeping him in the old library basement and there's no way out."

The bizarre nature of this story didn't at all seem to faze the fireman as he looked pitifully at the old sheets, thought for a minute, and snapped his fingers. "Hang on a sec," he said and then ran to his truck. Emma watched as he wrenched open the passenger door, pulled a black heavy-duty bag from the cab and returned to her car. "If you're gonna pull someone out of an old basement," he said, rummaging into the bag, "you're gonna need actual rope." Proudly (almost cute…if Emma was being totally honest with herself), Matt pulled a bundle of double-braided nylon rope from the sack.

"Why do you—" she started to ask, then snapped her mouth shut and rolled her eyes.

Clancy chuckled and struck a pose. "Fireman?"

The two of them headed back inside and were met by Sheriff Graham who was standing at the open doorway, shining his flashlight toward the door for Emma to find her way back. "Matt Clancy?" he asked as he spotted Emma's new friend.

"How you doin' Sheriff?"

Graham didn't respond, but instead shot Emma a wary look. The three of them had no time for pleasantries though and set their minds to the task of lifting Michael Tillman out of his basement prison.

"Oh God," were Tillman's first words upon finally touching ground on the upper level. He collapsed against the wall, massaging an obviously injured shin. Clancy fell to one knee beside him and started to do a partial workup while Emma crouched at his other side.

"Michael," she said, "what happened after—"

"_John_ happened," he winced as Clancy performed a few tests for mobility.

"Honest John?"

"John Foulfellow?" said Emma and Graham together. Tillman glanced up at the sheriff. "Honest John, yeah," he said as if just remembering. "That's what he first called himself."

"What'd he say?"

"Nothing much before he beat the shit out of me," he growled.

"Easy man," said Clancy as he pulled a stethoscope out from his bag and motioned for him to sit forward.

Tillman leaned over, bracing his palms on the cold, damp floor. "H-he—" he coughed – "he told me he was—" another cough and then he shuddered – "that he was gonna take real good care of my kids." He spit the last words out as if distasteful. "Emma, where are they? Where're my kids?"

Emma's face fell which told Tillman all he needed to know but she replied anyway. "We don't know, Michael, but we're looking. My son—" she glanced over at Clancy whose gaze was now quite guarded, "my son is missing too."

Michael slammed his fist against the floor and started pushing himself up. "Come on," he said. "We gotta start looking. We—"

"Whoa, hold on a minute," she held her hand up to stop him and looked back to Clancy. "Is he all right?"

Matt nodded. "He's a bit bruised, but nothing broken. Still, I'd go to the hospital anyway just to be safe."

"To hell with that," said Michael, not about to waste any more time being poked and prodded when his children needed him. Children – for some reason the idea no longer seemed foreign to him. In fact, the two photographs Emma had shown him had somehow ended up in his back pocket, and they were all that had sustained him. He had kids – Ava and Nicholas. Loved ones who needed him now, and he wasn't about to let them down.

Emma had to admit, despite all that was dangerously in flux right now, seeing Michael Tillman alive and well and still _in _Storybrooke healed a bit of her soul. Though she no longer needed it, finding the lost mechanic was further proof that she'd been right about _him _too. He hadn't, after all, abandoned his kids. He'd fully intended to take them in upon her return last week (holy Christ, was that _really _just last week?), and now, recovered at last, was hell bent on finding them. Henry's strong little voice popped in her head: _"You're the one who told me that you have a superpower. Did you use it?...On Michael Tillman. Did you use your superpower?...Well?...Was he lying? Did he really not want his kids?"— _Emma gasped…her superpower!

"Michael," she started as they headed for the library exit. She pulled off one heavy leather glove and turned to stop him just as they reached the threshold. "Do you mind if I try something?" she asked as Graham, already halfway out the door, whirled around. Tillman and Clancy stood rather dimly on either side of her while the sheriff drew a sharp breath. Emma reached for Michael's hand, her own hand trembling. But Emma never got the chance to prompt a vision of Tillman's captor or more of Honest John. For at that moment, a gut-wrenching scream ripped towards the old library…and Graham Humbert fell to the icy pavement outside.

"Graham!" Emma cried, rushing to where the sheriff had stumbled near his car. He was writhing and twisting on the sidewalk, curling into a little ball with blood-curdling shrieks loud enough to wake the dead. "What, what is it?" she asked, her heartbeat racing as she tried to steady him, tried to prop him up against her. "Is it _her_? Is she—"

But all he could do was scream in misery as the other two men rushed to his side.

"Talk to me Graham," said Clancy, his face sheet white as he crouched down, honestly unable to recall the last person he saw in this much agony. "Where's the pain, your chest? Lungs?"

Graham could barely breathe, let alone speak. But he gripped his chest and then awkwardly flung his hand forward and covered Clancy's own heart.

"Your heart," Matt confirmed as tears started streaming down Emma's cheek.

"You're a medic! Do something!" she screamed, clutching at the soft, fleece collar of Graham's jacket.

"Run to the truck," said Clancy as he forced Graham to lie all the way back on the pavement, "Grab the red and yellow bag from the cab."

Graham started shaking his head, but Emma was already up and running. She flew to the passenger side, flung open the door and grabbed the bag, ready to turn and rush right back to the suffering sheriff. And that's when she saw it…right as she closed the door…an image – a picture of Regina. No, not a picture – a projection, peeking out of the passenger side mirror…crushing Graham's heart.

"Emma!" Matt shouted at her, "That's the defibrillator! Hurry!"

But Emma stood frozen in horror as she watched Regina slowly squeezing the life out of her victim. Then, almost in slow motion, she turned to see Graham…staring up at her. He was no longer screaming. His cries had ceased. He gazed at her instead with a weak but knowing gleam in his eye. _He knows what is about to happen, _she thought almost against her will. _He's not afraid_. And then…he reached out toward her.

"Emma! Come on!" Clancy now raced to the truck, hollering a few incoherent instructions to Tillman as he ran to her side. "Deputy!" he shouted, though his voice practically disappeared in the snowstorm. "Snap out of it!" he cried, plucking the bag from his grasp and starting to turn. Then he too froze as his gaze fell upon the side mirror. "What the f— is that—"

"What the hell is going on over there?" yelled Tillman, who was staring at the whole scene in horror. Emma meanwhile, slowly approached the sheriff, the world starting to spin and swirl like the snow before her. Tillman bolted over to Clancy to see what everyone was staring at while Emma knelt down at Graham's side, tears spilling down her face.

"Graham," she whispered, though somehow she knew he could hear her, "I'm…I'm so—"

The hunter reached out and grasped her hand, squeezing tightly. Emma held her breath, preparing herself for a new vision as he'd reached for the hand still ungloved. But nothing happened. No, not this time. This was her place now – in the present. With him.

"N-not your fault," he stammered, his body shaking violently, though his hand remained steady. He'd known since his awakening last night that his time here would be limited. As the queen's most frequently-abused lackey and, he knew now, the one who over the years had most threatened the fabric of the curse, Graham knew he would be the first to fall. This morning at Gold's – was a warning. This – this was destiny. _His _destiny. His time. There was just one thing left to be done. One duty he owed the princess of New Gaia. "N-not your fault," he whispered again, desperate to leave her with no guilt, not a trace of responsibility for a fate that had been decided the moment he'd spared the life of her mother. "F-follow the wolf," he said.

She shook her head, holding his hand to her heart.

"T-trust your gut," he nodded and managed a smile.

"What the hell is she doing?!" Clancy's cries pierced through Graham's parting words and Tillman's followed.

"Is that…is that a h-human heart?!"

But Emma did not respond. She didn't even have the strength to whip around and scream at them to shut up as Graham breathed his last breath. She merely watched through bleary eyes, brushing the falling snow out of his brown, moppy hair. "L-love…" he whispered, then hissed in pain as he felt the last bit of life drain out of him. "Love your family," he pleaded with her. Then his hand went limp. Graham was dead.

…

Henry, Rufio, Nibs, Ace, Hansel and Gretel were all huddled in the corner of the large dining room. They'd been very careful since lunch to cause as little trouble as possible as Hook had been pacing extra close to their group since Henry's arrival. Eventually though, the old sea captain grew bored and retired to his private dining area where magic allowed him to conjure a feast far finer than the sloppy oatmeal growing cold in front of the boys.

"I'm tellin' you, Henry," said Nibs, as soon as Hook was out of earshot. "There's _no_ way outta here. We like to give Hook a good run for his money every now and then but—"

"Yeah, a few days ago, Tootles even made it out the window," said Rufio.

"Tootles?"

"Peter's very firstlost boy," said Ace. "Had just enough fairy dust left in him for a decent takeoff, but Hook and John were merciless. Shot him out of the sky like they was huntin' ducks!"

Henry's face turned a little green. "You mean he…he's—"

"He's not dead," Gretel placed a hand on his shoulder and shot Ace a disapproving look. Honestly, the kid loved to dramatize every situation. "They shot him with a _spell, _Henry, from Hook's hook. Not a gun," she finished, still glaring at Ace.

Henry frowned, peeking his head up over their little group and surveying the rest of the dining room. "Which one is Tootles?" he asked quietly.

Rufio sighed. "He ain't down here right now. Still laid up in bed. I mean, he's…all right I guess, but—"

"But the spell knocked the wind out've him," said Nibs. "When he _is _up and about, he's limpin' real bad and you can _forget _about happy thoughts."

"Happy thoughts?" asked Henry, though the concept sounded vaguely familiar.

"That's how we fly, Henry. Happy thoughts and fairy dust," explained Rufio. "Sounds simple enough, but when you've spent as much time here as we have…" he trailed off, looking back over to Nibs.

"You find that the fairy dust is actually _easier _to come by," said Nibs who, Henry had surmised, was easily the wisest of all the Lost Boys. In fact, Henry had a feeling that if Tootles had been Peter's firstLost Boy, Nibs had most likely been the second. The young prince looked at all the other equally young faces surrounding him and then glanced down to his shirt pocket. There Mick sat, still tucked safely inside and listening patiently as the childrens' stories unfolded.

"_See what I mean, Pal?_" the mouse's voice sounded in his head. "_They need you._"

Henry closed his eyes, nodding to the little rodent. Then another question occurred. "How'd he do it?" he said, picking his head up.

"Do what?" asked Ace as he took a swig of lukewarm water.

"Tootles. What was his happy thought?"

Rufio sighed and tucked one leg under the other. "A few months ago, Tootles was working late, cleaning in the kitchen. He always gave Hook a rough time with chores so he was always gettin' 'em done really late." Henry nodded, eager for the story to continue. "Well, Hook musta forgot he was there cuz Regina arrived that night and he never sent Tootles away."

"Regina came here?" Henry pointed down, glancing around the table.

"Yeah," Nibs chimed in, leaning forward. "And Regina usually doesn't come 'less it's _really_ important. She's got John for all the small stuff."

"John Foulfellow," Henry muttered, shuddering again at the memory of seeing his adoptive mother's lackey carrying poor Lucy's little body away.

"Right," said Nibs. "So anyway Tootles presses his ear up real tight against the door and listens to their conversation. Bout an hour later, he runs upstairs and says that Regina told Hook that the clock in Storybrooke started ticking again."

Henry straightened up in his seat, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "The clock?!" he cried, glancing over at Hansel and Gretel. "That's when my mom showed up," he said, excitedly. "That's when Emma came to Storybrooke!"

Gretel nodded. "Right," she confirmed. "That's what _we_ told 'em."

Rufio rolled his eyes. "We know, we know—"

"I'm just sayin'—" she teased.

"Cool it, you two," said Nibs, thrusting his hands out into the middle of the table and making a splitting-motion with his palms.

Henry shook his head, now thoroughly confused. "What? 'Just sayin'' what?"

Ace smirked and snorted into his drink. "Eh, Rufio's just sore he got proved wrong by a girl."

Rufio smacked him on the head. "Can it, Ace!"

"Both of you shut up or we ain't gonna _finish _the story b'for Hook comes back!" Nibs hissed. In Henry's head, he could hear Mick chuckling. "See Henry, Tootles has always had a kind of – er – active imagination. And the clock, well," he glanced around at the others. "It's kinduv a sore spot for all of us."

"Whadya mean?" Henry asked, folding his arms across each other on the table top.

"He means the clock is partly what ended us up here in the first place," said Rufio. "We weren't always trapped here you know. We came through with the curse like everyone else: fake memories, different names, every day pretty much the same."

"Right, 'till you started asking questions," Henry said with a proud grin, happy to suddenly be in-the-know.

Rufio drew back. "Uh…right. How do _you _know about that?"

He glanced down at Mick who he swore gave Henry a thumbs up with his tiny little paw. "One story at a time, Rufio," Henry chuckled, pulling back and crossing his hands behind his head. Ace followed it up with a jeering 'Ooooooooo' of his own before someone smacked him on the head again. Henry laughed, but then gestured for Rufio to continue. "So what about the clock?"

Still eyeing the kid warily, though – oddly – with a bit more respect now, Rufio pressed on: "The clock was one of the first things we noticed. Every day, every minute – stuck on 8:14. It never moved. And _nobody _else ever wondered why."

"I used to ask Ms. Blanchard every day why the clock never changed," added Ace, "and she never had a real answer."

"You were in Ms. Blanchard's class?!" Henry exclaimed so loud, his outburst earned him a collective shushing.

"Yeah," Ace scoffed, "'till I asked about the clock one too many times. Then they moved me into DeVil's class and 'ventually got kicked out altogether!"

"Soon we started askin' other questions too and _then,_" said Nibs, sharing a sorrowful look with the rest of them, "we started wakin' up. So Regina moved us here and put Hook here to guard us."

Henry frowned and it suddenly struck him that the passage of time here must have felt far less hazy to these boys than it did to the adults living in town. Why, they'd truly felt every single, painstakingly dull day for 28 years. "So when Tootles told you guys the clock was working again—"

"We didn't really believe it," Rufio said, his voice regretful. "We thought sure Tootles heard wrong. I mean, it was just too good to be true. Besides, we hadn't _really _believed in anything for years. Not after…" he trailed off, and Gretel actually reached forward and covered his hand with hers.

"After Peter grew up," she finished for him. Rufio glanced up, startled but grateful.

"It was enough for Tootles though," Nibs continued, drawing himself up from his bench and rounding the table over to Henry. "He _knew_ he'd heard right. The clock was ticking again – his first happy thought in decades. And the more he held onto it, the stronger it grew. Started affecting all of us really. First time any of us 'ad smiled in years. And eventually, it grew so strong he learned to fly again, and he made it all the way outside before Hook and John stopped 'im."

There was a collective pause at the table as all the kids, including Hansel and Gretel seemed to be reliving the moment in their minds as they saw their friend struck down by the villainous rogues. "We were all real proud of 'im," Ace assured Henry as he sensed the rest of the group succumbing to remorse, "but Hook and John made it clear that if anyone else tried to escape, they'd not only get killed but—"

"But so would anyone else left behind," said Nibs.

"So it's gotta be all of us together or none at all," said Rufio.

"And since Peter's all chained up—"

"Andthe locks are controlled by magic—"

"_And _Hook's the only one's _got _magic—"

It was Hansel who finished, and said with a sigh, "No more happy thoughts."

Henry gulped, feeling his entire corner of the room heaving with regret. The other boys near them had quieted too, and he suddenly felt as if a dozen eyes were all on him, looking for answers. Answers he didn't have…or did he?

"Fairy dust," he murmured quietly.

Nibs' head shot up. "What?"

Henry shot a look to Mick who was now beaming up from his pocket. "_My thoughts exactly, Pal._"

Henry nodded. "Fairy dust," he said, more confidently as Gretel and the boys tuned in. "Fairy dust _is _magic. Good magic."

"Yeah so?" scoffed Rufio. "You didn't happen ta bring any extra didja?" he crossed his arms, brow creased in doubt.

"Don't need to. You said it yourself – Tootles had just enough fairy dust in 'im for takeoff right?"

Nibs nodded. "Right?"

"Well? Don'tcha see? You _all _have a little bit a fairy dust left in you. That's why you're immune to the curse in the first place. It's why you noticed the clock. Why you figured out no one aged."

Nibs looked over to Rufio who shrugged. "Kid's got a point. It _is _the only thing that's different 'bout us from other kids."

"It's true," added Gretel. "I mean, look at us. We've lived in Storybrooke this whole time without askin' questions," she gestured to her brother who nodded in assent.

"Exactly," said Henry, "and if you've all got fairy dust, you've all still got magic. And with it, we can free Peter, and _all_ bust outta here!"

"Whoa, wait a minute now Hank," said Ace, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Can I call ya Hank? Listen, there's a _big _difference between usin' fairy dust to fly and usin' it to amass some cock-eyed escape."

"He's right," said Nibs. "Flyin's all we _ever _used fairy dust for. What makes you think we can actually…_do _magic."

"Because," Henry folded his arms over his chest. He shot Mick one last look for support which Mick wholeheartedly returned. In fact, Henry could once again _feel _the mouse's ear-to-ear grin. "I'm magic too."

…

When James finally woke, he had a splitting headache and was staring up at the crusty, yellow, moldy ceiling of a _very _familiar looking cell. Blinking his eyes open, he turned his head slowly, wincing at the pain that seared down his spine as his body reminded him of the nasty bump Abigail's shovel had wrought. "Regina!" he shouted as he picked himself off the ground and grunted himself upright. "Reginaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he yelled again, letting his anger dwarf his pain.

Livid, he pounded his fist against the iron bars that lined two walls of his tiny cell, one set lining the front and the other adjacent to another cell. He rubbed the back of his neck, hissing through the pain as he assessed the second blow to his head in less than a week. He knew better this time though, thank the gods. Abigail may have struck him down, but this was Regina through and through. He only hoped that wherever Abigail was now, she could find a way to stay safe and out of the queen's range.

Just then, what sounded like a heavy iron door wrenched open somewhere above him and he heard clunky footfalls descending a staircase that obviously led closer to the cell block. He drew in a sharp breath, clutching the bars and gritting his teeth against the incoherent but very obvious verbal duel going on between catch and captor.

When the two people finally rounded the corner, James wasn't sure what surprised him more – seeing Belle struggling against the ties behind her back…or Gaston shoving her roughly inside the cell next to his own.

"I'll have you for my wife, Belle," Gaston spat at the floor as Belle stumbled inside. "Make no mistake about that!" And without so much as a glance in James's direction, the clearly frustrated brute-turned-bartender stalked back down the corridor and out of sight.

James stared helplessly at his good friend, crumpled up in a heap in the cell beside him. She was still dressed in the scrubs she'd borrowed for last night's hospital escape and had a worn parka thrown hastily over her shoulders. But none of that could hide the red marks and bruises around her neck and along her cheeks. Gently, James crouched down, fearing the worst. For this was Belle and Gaston. And history from their world…tended to repeat itself in Storybrooke. "Are you…ok?"

"I'm fine," she muttered, brushing the grime and dirt from her arms that had already gathered on her coat. Then she slipped it off, flipped it inside out and spread the coat out on the floor.

"Belle…" James tried again, but she wasn't looking up. She busied herself instead with arranging her coat into a makeshift mattress, clearly working through some pent up frustration as she tore roughly at one sleeve that hadn't fully flipped. "Belle look at me," he said a little louder. And finally, she glanced up, her eyes dark and grim. "Did he—"

"He tried," she said curtly, looking away, folding her arms over her chest.

He reached through the bars, covering his hand over her wrist. "What happened?"

Belle was silent for a few moments, going through the whole painful ordeal in her head: leaving Adam with the promise of telling him the awful truth about Jack Hunter only to be abducted by the very brute that was to be the cause of her husband's torment. The whole situation was so ironic it might be laughable…that is if she wasn't so angry. Still, she thought as her lips curled into a small smile, there had been _some _highlights. "Same thing that happened the last time he tried something like this," she answered James, finally looking up, "– I kicked him."

In spite of everything, James snorted.

"He's gonna be a little sore for a while," she added with a satisfied nod.

James swallowed hard, hesitant to confirm what was already quite clear. "He called you Belle. I take it he's—"

"Awake, yes."

His shoulders dropped with a sigh as he withdrew his hand from hers. "How?"

"He was waiting for me," she said, shaking her head at the ceiling. "At my father's house. I was starting to get worried about what may happen to him if Regina worked out that I was awake, so I went to bring him back to the cottage. And there he was waiting for me, standing over my father's bed with a knife at his throat."

"Oh Belle," James said softly.

"Fully awake, fully _Gaston,_" she glanced down at James. "Adam has taught me a lot about defending myself, but I wasn't about to risk my father's life so…I let him take me."

"And he brought you here?"

"No," she shook her head. "We went to his – well, 'Jack Hunter's' house first. That's where he…where he tried—"

"It's all right," James waved her off. She didn't need to elaborate on yet another of Gaston's attempts to force himself on her. The only thing that mattered was that he'd failed. "Then what?"

Belle sighed and sat back on her small coat-turned rug. She drew her knees up to her chin and closed her eyes. "Then he made me watch that…horrifying projection of Regina."

James's blood went ice cold. "What?" he said through gritted teeth, feeling nearly every muscle in his body clench. "What projection of Regina?"

Belle's head snapped up at his tone, her eyes wide with horror. "In the mirror," she rushed the explanation, "Y-you…you didn't see?"

"There aren't any mirrors down here, Belle," he said, trying to keep his voice calm (and failing miserably). "What. Happened."

Belle stood and went to the bars to meet her friend. She had a feeling this was about to get ugly. "Regina projected herself into every mirror in town – at least that's what I'm assuming since Gaston and I passed several _very _frightened neighbors on the way out of his house all talking to each other about it."

"_Every _mirror?"

Belle nodded.

"What did she say?" James practically growled.

"It was a message for us, James. A warning," she said quietly, clenching her own hands around the bars just below his. "She said we were fools for thinking she wouldn't have been prepared for us to awaken."

"Goddammit!" James flung himself back from her and crossed his tiny cell to the opposite wall, pounding his fist against the rough rock. "I knew it," he muttered more to himself than to Belle. "I knew she'd have something up her sleeve."

"She's woken up her own allies in retaliation. Gaston is probably just the beginning," Belle said hurriedly, knowing the worst was yet to come for her friend. "And she's vowed to hunt down and capture anyone she even suspects of having anything to do with those of us who are free from the curse."

James was shaking his head as if in denial, glaring at the floor and still muttering. "We've gotta get outta here. Gotta warn Snow and the others. We have to find—"

"James there's something else," Belle called out to him, her voice insistent, intent on being heard. He glanced back at her, one hand braced on the stone wall and the other on his hip. Belle took a deep breath, stealing herself against the inevitable. "She wants Emma."

His arms went limp and hung loosely at his sides, his face turning deathly pale. "Wh-what?" he managed, his mouth quickly drying up.

"Sh-she wants Emma, James. Demanded that she hand herself over or…o-or…"

"Or what?!" he barked, suddenly before her again and gripping the cell bars so tight she thought it certain they would snap off.

But Belle didn't even jump as Emma's father stood practically seething before her. In her eyes was only sadness. "For every day that Emma doesn't turn herself in…she'll crush one of her captive hearts."

James let out an agonizing cry. "She's bluffing!" he insisted, blinking back hot, stinging tears. "She can't do that—"

"It's no bluff, James." This time it was Belle who reached through the bars and clasped his wrists down by his side. "She's already started."

"What?!"

"In the mirror, we watched. We watched her crush a heart."

The prince of New Gaia sank to his knees. "No," he whispered, repeating the word over and over again as Belle sank down beside him, still holding tightly to his hands.

"I'm sorry James," was all she could offer.

But he was already shaking his head. "Abigail," he groaned.

Belle started. "Abigail?"

He nodded. "She killed Abigail, I just know it."

"_Princess _Abigail?" Belle said in alarm. "As in Midas's daughter?" Again, he nodded. "Why do you say that?"

"Because Abigail is the reason I'm here," he said quietly, the venom and rage quickly deflating into guilt and mortification. "Regina had control of her. Usedher to capture me. And now, she'll just…she'll be…" he trailed off as Belle gave his hand another squeeze. "Regina'll just see her as a loose end. And once you're of no more use to Regina…so long happy ending."

Belle was silent for a long while, utterly lost for words. And really, what could be said? It might _not_ be Abigail? If it wasn't, then Regina had killed someone else just as innocent. There was simply no way around the pain this evil witch had, for reasons that still escaped the clever bookworm, decided they all must endure. "James," she whispered at last, clutching to his arms and shaking him.

"She wants Emma," he rasped. "She won't stop…she'll never stop until my whole family is dead—"

"James!" she tried again and this time at least got him to look up. "If that's the case, then we have to work together to make sure that _doesn't _happen all right?" He glared up at her through creased eyebrows, full of doubt, but Belle was adamant. "Come on, what is it you're always saying? Good can't lose?"

James almost laughed at his absurdly optimistic mantra. He just wasn't up for this anymore. How much more must his family be tested? How were they even to be of any use to Emma trapped in Regina's old cell blocks –

He paused and jerked his head up, glancing around at the cells to his right and across from him. Six in all. Only six…why only six?

"What? What is it?" asked Belle, looking around but finding nothing of interest in what James suddenly found so fascinating.

"She _is _bluffing," James muttered, grabbing hold of the bars again and hoisting himself up.

Belle shook her head. "She's not," she said painfully. "We saw her do it James. She crushed—"

"No, not about that," he waved her off, "look." He pointed across from them at the far corner cell. Inside, James gulped, was a basinet.

Belle shuddered, wrapping her arms instinctively around her middle. "Is that what I think it is?"

"It's a cradle, yes," he said, glancing again between the cells. "No loose ends."

"What?"

"Regina doesn't leave any loose ends," he turned to her. "Like I said. If we were of no more use to her then—"

"She would've just killed us too," Belle realized, finishing for him.

"She's _not_ rounding up absolutely everyone she suspects of being awake. There are only six cells here. Six."

Belle nodded. "She's capturing specific people."

"_Very _specific people by the look of it," he pointed again at the basinet. "I'll bet that's for Thomas's daughter."

"Or my son," she cringed, hugging herself even tighter, "depending on how long she thinks we'll be here."

James shook his head, certain he was right, but he didn't argue with her. "We're here for a reason."

"But why? What could she possibly need with me, you and a baby?"

"I don't know but that's what we have to figure out before—"

He was cut off by the sound of the heavy cell block door opening. Both prince and princess braced themselves as heavy footfalls descended the stone staircase and unmistakable sounds of a girl struggling and tugging against her captor echoed through the chamber.

When they rounded the corner, James fully expected it to be Regina, but a devastatingly beautiful woman appeared instead and he heard Belle shriek in terror as her full form was revealed.

"Circe!" she cried, lunging toward the front bars of her cell.

James gasped. He'd never seen the infamous sorceress but all the realms knew the name of the witch who had laid her deadly creature curse upon the heir of Ebonshire. "What do you want from us?"

But Circe merely flashed them a cruel smile as she drew forth her covered captive and yanked open another cell door. "Absolutely nothing dears," she said in the most soothing, siren-like voice. And without another word, she yanked the brown sack off of her prisoner's head and flung her inside the bars.

The girl tumbled into the chamber as Circe glided away and slammed the heavy door shut. She was disoriented, frightened, practically hyperventilating, and Belle and James glanced at each other as the girl's disheveled hair still covered her face. But when she swept aside her curls, looking up at them with doe-eyed fright, her identity was clear.

"Dawn?" Belle gasped, recognizing the nurse from the hospital.

James shook her head and said quietly, "Aurora."

…

_Lucas was not surprised upon arrival to find Rosebriar in a seemingly perfect state of excitement and good cheer. Though the official announcement would not take place until early evening the following day, the servants were already happily bustling about the palace, cooking, cleaning and decorating for what had to be the kingdom's most hastily organized engagement announcement and banquet in its history. The palace staff seemed simply ecstatic for their princess as were (also _un_surprisingly) King Stefan and Queen Leah. _

_ No, Lucas was not at all surprised to find the castle in full swing as he handed Wellington off to the stables and was announced to the royal family at table as they finished their breakfast. And he wasn't surprised to find Aurora and Philip, seated across from each other as a newly betrothed pair should be, enjoying what seemed to be a perfectly amicable conversation. Nor was he surprised when she turned toward him, perfectly composed and amiable as his name was announced and Stefan began chattering wildly about how exciting it was to have Philip's "right-hand-man" here so the festivities could truly begin…nor was he surprised when not a half hour later, a page was sent to his guest chambers informing him that his presence was required immediately in the princess's parlor._

_ A few years ago, following a rather comical debate between her and Philip about a princess's rightful place in the monarchy, Aurora commissioned a sort of junior throne room so that she, like her father, could hold audiences and address grievances for those of her subjects she knew would feel more comfortable coming to her rather than the king. These were women mostly, young girls who perhaps felt threatened or insulted by some of the rougher gentry. Stefan, ever an advocate for his daughter, agreed to convert one of the unused wings of the library into a private parlor where such meetings could take place…of course, typically Aurora's private guard would always be on hand to ensure the princess's safety when meeting with frustrated, often irate commoners. Today, well…Lucas was most definitely _not_ surprised as he entered the parlor that her security had been dismissed._

_ "Your Highness," he bowed immediately, knowing his formal greeting was about to be summarily dismissed as it echoed through the empty chamber. Still, he observed the proper rules of decorum. If anything, bowing delayed his having to actually look her in the eye. _

_She didn't reply, merely sat on her throne and glared at him. He felt her gaze prickling the back of his neck and he knew she was not about to make this easy for him. Truthfully, he didn't blame her. Not one bit. After all, he was the one who had broken her heart. Dutifully, he picked himself off the floor and finally met her broken, devastating gaze._

_ "How could you?" she rasped, barely above a whisper as she slowly rose from her chair._

_ Lucas had no words. He didn't trust himself to speak._

_ "Answer me," she said, a bit louder, though he could hear her voice crack under the strain of having spent the past day and a half putting on the most extraordinary charade of bridal bliss for literally every person she encountered._

_ Her icy, commanding tone sent shivers down his spine. Hades and the Underworld be damned – _this _was hell. "Your Highness, I—"_

_ "Don't address me as if I'm your _queen, _Lucas," she scolded him, advancing across the cold marble tiles of the parlor. "You at _least _owe me _that._"_

_Lucas's breath caught in his throat as she drew nearer. He might have been able to do this if she stayed across the room, a healthy distance between himself and the woman for whom he would fall on his sword (and indeed, he wished someone would run him through right now rather than allow him to continue hurting her as he had in remaining silent). She came to stand in front of him and he could see now the puffiness under her eyes, the strain etched in creases across her brow. "Aurora—" he said at last, but she wasn't ready to hear any explanation._

"_He _told _you he was coming to propose!" she cried, throwing her arms in the air. "You _stood _there while he told you this ludicrous plan of his to make his father proud and you said _nothing!_"_

"_Aurora please—" against his better judgment he reached for her, but she snatched her wrist back. _

"_And now here you are," she said, her bitter tone agony to her lover's ear, but he would stand and take it. He deserved it tenfold, "ready to be Braemar's _liason. _Ready to help my _mother _coordinate a wedding that you and I _promised _would never happen!" She threw her arms up again in a frenzy, stalking off toward the small veranda along the east wall of her parlor, the sun streaming through the blue velvet curtains that Lucas himself had helped her drape. _

_She stopped in the small pool of light peeking through and it was all Lucas could do not to rush over to her and pull her into his arms as she stood there shimmering like an angel. She wrapped her arms around her middle, and he could see the anger ebb away, turning to sorrow…which was infinitely worse. "I came so close, Aurora," he said softly, starting towards her. "So close," he shook his head, "to telling him everything."_

"_Why didn't you?" she rasped, unable to turn back and face him, though she could feel him approaching. "If Philip knew about us…i-if he knew what we meant to each other, he would never—"_

"_He would never have proposed," said Lucas, wanting so desperately to comfort her, to console her and support her as he had done for years, long before they'd ever fallen in love. He paused just behind her, painfully aware of how easy it would be right now to throw all good sense and caution to the wind. Good sense that had been hard enough to come by back in Braemar when Philip asked for his advice and support. "I couldn't betray him," he said at last, offering what he was sure she would feel was the most inadequate of explanations. "With everything his family has done for— I c-can't betray Philip or Hubert or _your _father for that matter—"_

"_Just me then," she said coldly, and it drove the knife deeper into his gut. "I see."_

"_No, you don't," he said, unable to help himself this time. He grabbed her arm and turned her around. "You couldn't possibly, and that's my fault too. Trust me, Aurora. If things were different. I-if _my _circumstances were different, I would…I would never," he struggled in vain. How could he ever make her understand? "I _never _meant for any of this to get this far—"_

"_Any of what?" she pulled out of his grip. "Philip's proposal?...Or _yours_."_

_Lucas dropped her gaze, shaking his head and loathing himself all over again. "I-I…never actually…p-proposed…" he said, pathetically._

_Aurora could feel what little color she had left draining from her face. "No," she cried, her heart breaking into even smaller pieces. "No, I suppose not. You just held me under a blanket of stars in my grandmother's garden and told me you couldn't live without me."_

_He winced, hearing the echoes of words once spoken in such love now used against him…as she had every right to do. How could he have been so reckless? How could he have promised the world to a woman bound to the very family that had saved his life? How could he have let himself betray so many people to whom he owed his very soul? "I-I'm so…I'm so sorry—"_

_But she wasn't finished. "You told me you loved me," she said and then reached for his hand, forcing him towards the window that overlooked the very courtyard she'd spoken of. "You stood under that tree," she pointed at their willow, "and promised me one day we'd tell the world." She finished in a whisper, wearing him down…and he knew it too. _

"_Aurora," he begged her, "don't…"_

"_Tell me it isn't true," she said, turning him to face her, though he was doing his best to keep his eyes glued to the floor. Gently, she reached out to cradle his face in her hands, but his own hands shot up and clasped her wrists, holding her back. "Look at me," she pleaded, and slid her palms up to frame his cheeks anyway, despite his hold on her. He shook his head, but she was relentless, and at last he was forced to meet her gaze. "Tell me," she said again. "If you really want me to marry Philip—" the very idea of it made him queasy— "then tell me you don't love me."_

"_Please," he rasped, but her eyes were brimming, her gaze drowning him in the same love he couldn't deny if he tried. And though duty and honor screamed for him to resist, he found he couldn't bring himself to move a muscle as she stepped up into him and brushed her lips against his._

_His grip on her wrists tightened as she kissed him, and he tried desperately not to kiss back. But he knew he was fighting a losing battle even before he'd entered the room, and he surrendered completely as she coaxed his lips apart and deepened the kiss, straining up on her tip toes just to get a little closer. "Aurora," he moaned, his breath mingling with hers as he pulled her arms up around his neck before settling his own at her waist. He crushed her to him, lifting her delicate form from the ground as he straightened up to his full height and leaned her back into his chest. Hungrily, he tilted her head to the side and fastened his mouth more fully over hers, sipping from her lips like a man starved as he locked one arm securely around her waist and caressed his other palm up her back._

"_Lucas," she whimpered as hot tears spilled down her cheeks and her whole body started to tremble with want, need… sorrow. Gradually, Lucas set her down once more, her slippers touching the ground beneath shaking knees that were hard to keep stable without his support. He held her tightly as the kiss finally ended, and rested his forehead against hers while he brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumb. "How can you not want this?" she whispered, reaching up to cup his face once more. "Why can't we fight for this?"_

_Lucas squeezed his eyes shut, willing his own tears not to fall as he shook his head against hers. If she only knew. "It's…it's just not that simple," he said at last, letting his palm graze down her cheek until his hand reached hers and clasped it tightly. "It wouldn't be right—"_

_She pulled back from him. "How is it not right to be with the one you love?" she challenged._

"_Because," Lucas sighed. Having her in his arms again made it even more difficult to voice any sort of legitimate argument, but he knew he had to make her understand. For these stolen moments were just those: moments. And he knew, in the end, they couldn't be allowed to last. "We can't just think about ourselves, Aurora. You have to know that."_

"_Who says we have to?" she cried, the euphoria of their kiss already slipping away as she again grew frustrated and retreated from his embrace. "You're the queen's _nephew, _Lucas. You're still _part _of the royal family of Braemar. Surely if _we_ were to marry, your uncle and my father could still—"_

"_It wouldn't be the same," he cut her off and the sudden curtness of his tone startled her. "You don't get it, I'm not really—"_

"_Lucas," she rushed back to him, grasping his hands and leveling her gaze. "Do. You. Love me?"_

_He couldn't deny her. "You know I do," he said quietly. "But—"_

"_Do you want to marry me?"_

"_Aurora, please. It's _not _that simple—"_

"_Ah!" she held up her hand, cutting him off. "Just answer the question. If there was some way. Some way for us to be together. To marry without you having to…to—" she waved her hand flightily in the air— "betray your uncle or Philip or whoever's honor you think you're bound to. Would you?"_

_He pulled his hands from her grasp and settled them on her shoulders, determined this time to hold her at bay, "You know I would," he said quietly, "in a heartbeat."_

"_Then let's do it," she pleaded, closing her hands around his wrists. "Let's find a way. There must be something you could tell Hubert that—"_

"_There's nothing," he insisted, shaking his head, trying hard to be strong for both of them. "It's _not _possible—" _

"_Anything is possible," she cried, the look in her eyes beyond reason. "We can…we can—" an idea suddenly occurred, and a frenzied smile split her face. "We can go to my Aunt Effie. We can tell her what's happened. She'll—"_

"_Your Aunt Effie!" Lucas practically bellowed, reeling back from her so abruptly that she was left standing with her arms still outstretched towards him. "Are you mad?!" _

_Aurora closed her eyes. Perhaps she _was _a little mad; she was desperate. But the more she considered the idea, the more convinced she became that not only was it their best shot…it was brilliant. "She can help us, Lucas. I know she can."_

"_Aurora, you can't be serious," he stalked back to her. "Think what you're saying!" he gripped her arms and shook her, but she seemed to be looking past him. Through him. As if the plan she was now concocting in her head were as elaborate and fool proof as those they'd often acted out as children, grand adventures and tales of romance and heroes that always had happy endings. "Darling," he tried again, and this time he got her to meet his gaze. "She's a witch. A sorceress," he said steadily, emphasizing each word in the hopes they might inspire some sense of reason. _

"_Which makes her powerful—"_

"_Which makes her dangerous!"_

"_She loves me," she said, her voice growing steadier and more confident while Lucas grew more and more panicked._

"_She threatened you at your cradle blessing!"_

_But Aurora shrugged it off. "That was almost eighteen _years_ ago, and she had a right to be upset. My father _should _have invited her—"_

"_My gods!" he cried, sliding his palms up his forehead and then clutching at his hair. "Do you _hear _yourself right now?"_

"_You don't _know _her like I do—"_

"_I _still_ can't believe you _know _her at all!" he yelled, hating himself for being angry with her, when he knew deep down she was the only one who had a right to be angry today. But he could neither help nor control his mounting fear. When she'd told him two summers ago that not only had she _met_ her fugitive aunt but had actually developed a relationship with her, he'd reacted much the same way and went so far as to threaten to tell Philip _and _the king. But she was adamant, and insisted that 'Effie' had shown her nothing but kindness and regret for her abhorrent behavior early on. Then, when the stable hand's daughter grew ill, and all hope seemed to be lost, she'd begged Lucas to come with her in the dead of night and see for himself how the infamous witch had changed her ways. Since there was no stopping her, Lucas had agreed to accompany Aurora to the old bastion that stood at the edge of the shores of Rosebriar where the woman had apparently been hiding. 'Effie' gave them a potion that she promised would cure the girl which Lucas of course begged Aurora not to use, but since the child was close to death, they had little choice but to try. To this day old Caleb still had no idea that his daughter's miraculous recovery was the result of witchcraft. _

"_You saw with your own eyes Lucas. You _know _that she's good. That she would never betray—"_

"_I know no such thing," he cut her off again. "What I saw was a powerful sorceress who cured a child to curry favor with the crown. Now listen," he took her hands in his once more, squeezing tightly. "I've kept your secret, Aurora. I've told no one about our encounter with your aunt and I don't intend to. But I'm begging you, do not involve her in this."_

"_But—"_

"_Please, my love" he implored her, and the urgency in his voice rendered her silent. "You know that I would die for you." He cupped her face in his palm as tears began sliding down her cheeks again. "You know that I will _live_," his voice broke, "the rest of my life loving _only _you—"_

"_Lucas, please—" she wept, shaking her head._

_And he kissed her again. A searing, swooning kiss meant to last a thousand lifetimes. His hands caressed up and down her back, tunneling through her long blonde curls while she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. Again and again he kissed her, pouring his heart and soul into what he knew would be their very last embrace until finally he pulled back, kissed away the tears now drenching her cheeks, then pressed his forehead against hers. "But I'm begging you," he rasped again, both of them still panting, aching, dying inside. "If you love me, let me go. Do _not _go to Maleficent."_

_Aurora sobbed and sank against his chest, coming apart at the seams as she collapsed into his hug and whispered, "I promise."_

_It would be the only promise she made to him that she would ever break…_

Maeve's cold and clammy hands smacked lightly about his face as Trent stirred awake. The first thing he became aware of was the overly bright florescent light beating down into his face which forced his eyes shut almost the instant he was able to open them again. Good god, was this how patients felt when they were wheeled in here on gurneys? Utterly blind? "Davis," he heard Maeve's abrasive, brassy voice. "Hey, Davis, come on now, wake up."

Gradually, Trent crossed over the tenuous space between sleep and awake, trying to sort the jumble of images in his head. Already the strange dream he'd had seemed to be slipping away and he was left with only faint traces of a girl who looked very much like Dawn, but even those visions were muddled together with the much more vivid (though no less confusing) recollections of Nurse Charles being…dragged by someone? Kicking and screaming? "W-what happened?" Trent muttered as he pushed himself up to a sitting position and was finally able to focus on the robust Head Nurse still shaking him into consciousness.

"Jesus, Davis, you don't remember?" Maeve snapped. "Psychotic she-devil came in and ripped the place apart? Amped up on who knows how many drugs, settin' things on fire?"

Trent did remember and immediately started darting his head around, trying to get a grip on the situation. Oh yes, he remembered now. He'd been just about to leave for his shift at the station. He'd failed miserably in his one and only attempt at actually asking Dawn out for a date when Clancy showed up, raved for a few minutes about Emma Swan, hit on Dawn, and then left _just _as a dark-haired woman came strolling into the ER and started raising hell. Security guards were flung backwards, seemingly without her even touching them (though Trent convinced himself he must have missed something). Computer monitors were blown to smithereens, chairs were hurled across the room at anyone who tried to get close, and windows were shattered.

Everywhere he turned now, doctors and nurses were tending to wounds, assessing damage, putting out a few small fires with hand-held extinguishers. "Dawn," he said suddenly, and finally the whole episode put itself fully together in his mind. "Where is she? Where's Dawn?"

"Shhh," said Maeve, though Trent couldn't for the life of him figure out why the hell he needed to be quiet. The panicky noises of shocked hospital patients and staff were practically deafening. Meave, meanwhile, was dabbing a cold cloth at the back of his neck and only then did he become aware of the sharp pain there.

"Ow!" he snapped, but her strong arms yanked him down to her level (for she was a short, stout little thing) so she could finish.

"Get a grip, all right? I need to patch this up before it gets worse," she mumbled, reaching for some gauze and medical tape.

"Where is she? What happened," he demanded again, though he supposed he wasn't very intimidating to her with his whole torso cocked awkwardly to one side while she dressed the wound.

Finally, she smoothed the last bit of tape along his neck and nudged him upright. "Kidnapped, remember?" she said matter-of-factly and then started toward the employee break room.

"Kidnapped?!" he cried and dozens of faces turned toward them as they passed various clumps of people assessing the battered ER.

"Shhhh!" said Maeve again as she pushed open the swinging door and he followed her into the empty break room. "Yes," she retorted as she turned back to him. "Kidnapped, by that crazy woman who destroyed this place. Now listen," she said, ignoring the way Trent Davis's mouth hung open like it was wired to the floor. She opened her locker and started rummaging through what had to be the bulkiest, crappiest looking purse Trent had ever seen. "Whoever wanted her sure as hell wasn't worried about _you._ That woman swatted you down like a fly and never gave you a second thought which means she obviously didn't know who you _were. _ We need to keep it that way if you're going to get Dawn back."

Trent stared at her as if she was speaking Chinese, but his obvious confusion didn't seem to concern her much. "Maeve, what are you—"

"Here," she said, having at last found what she was searching for and thrust an odd, white, sort of egg-shaped stone in his hand. It was speckled with blue and silver flecks, and at first glance looked rough, but in his hand it was smooth as glass, heavy too, like a paperweight. "Keep this in your pocket and don't take it out until you or someone else figures out how to use it." She wasted no time arguing as she pulled Trent's leather jacket, which was still hanging on the break room coat stand. She shrugged him into it, zipping the stone safely into his breast pocket.

"Hey!" he protested, yanking himself back out of her grip. "You mind telling me what the hell you're—"

"Look Davis," she fisted her hand tightly to the lapel of his coat and dragged him back out into the hallway down another corridor away from the crime scene. "You're not _supposed _to understand any of this right now, and frankly I don't think you want to." She adjusted her grip so she now had both hands at his shoulders, pushing him along the corridor that eventually spilled into the back exit near the spare ambulance bay. "All you need to know is that nurse, the one you've been crazy about for almost 30 years, is in trouble, and she needs your help."

"Th-thiry years?" he spluttered, though he was already zipping up his jacket against the onslaught of snow that greeted them as they spilled into the bay. "What are you—"

"Follow the path out toward the toll bridge," she pointed towards the woods which lined the back of the hospital (the same path toward which she'd steered a delirious 'David Nolan' all those months ago). "You'll run into some friends along the way. You get lost? Follow the birds."

"Maeve!—"

"Go Trent!" she barked at him. "Dawn's counting on you," she added and then shoved him towards the forest. Trent stumbled out into the snow, catching his breath and his balance while instinctively clutching at the strange weight now in his breast pocket. Relieved to find it still there, though wondering suddenly why he even cared, he turned back to the exit…and Maeve was gone.

…

*****First off, let us all observe a moment of silence for our beloved Sheriff Graham. I know a lot of you out there were enjoying this fic because I kept Graham alive, but let's face it - the guy has always had an expiration date. Dude simply knows too much. It was a rough one to write, I gotta say, but I hope you will enjoy where Emma's journey eventually leads her.**

**A bit of a shorter chapter here, I know, but pretty packed. Plus I NEEDED to get this one out so I can finally focus on the end of "Mermaid's Tail" by sgcycle which is (to quote the slinky in that Geico commercial) aaaawesome!**

**Shout out to The Pris as always (way to go on your exams, girl!) and to the actual show, Once Upon a Time, which finally made Regina evil again! Yay.**

**Wanted to clear up a few things for newer readers, or perhaps very old readers who may have forgotten some details along the way. I've been getting questions about certain characters who, if you blinked, it's possible you might have missed their very first introductions:**

**Lucas and Trent Davis are the same person.**

**Philip and Matt Clancy are the same person.**

**Aurora and Dawn Charles…same person.**

**And now for Honest John...**

**Honest John is NOT some other fairytale character I haven't revealed yet. He's Honest John – J. W. Foulfellow from Pinocchio. If you don't know Pinocchio real well, I can certainly understand the confusion. In the 1940 Disney movie I think he was a fox. In other versions, he's just a smarmy con man. A couple people messaged me asking if he was Hook. **

**Hook and Honest John…NOT the same person ;)**

**I know the last three chapters here have been real dark; this was not my intention, but I found the more setup I had to do for the final battle and Emma's breaking of the curse, the more characters and set pieces I had to establish so all the players are in the right positions. Trust me, it does get better from here on out because our heroes are about to piece together the final bit of Regina's plan. If you were paying REAL close attention to Gold's explanations about Guardians and the captives each rogue was sent to find, you might be piecing it together yourself already (one person out there already has…yeah, you know who you are!)**

**Tomorrow I'm headed to Disney World…that's right folks – DISNEY WORLD! If I don't come back with some serious inspiration for the finale of "Toll Bridge" then the magic has left the building…and we all know THAT hasn't happened. I'll be thinking of you all while I'm at Gaston's tavern enjoying their version of Butterbeer.**

**Happy Easter if you celebrate, Happy Spring if you don't!**

**-Nikstlitslepmur*****


	39. Knocked for six

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Knocked for six**

The afternoon passed in silence, almost in a haze as Emma and the men set to the grim task of burying the town sheriff. As the sharp edge of her spade crunched through the cold, dampened earth, she couldn't honestly remember where she'd gotten the shovel, nor could she remember having trekked from the library to the forest or having helped lift Graham's body from the bed of Clancy's truck to the makeshift grave they'd spent an hour digging. In truth, it was Matt who, spurred on by Emma's catatonic trance following the sheriff's death, had seized control of the situation, driven by instinct and some innate knowledge that this was not a death that could be reported or recorded through normal channels. He had seen enough with his disbelieving eyes to know that no doctor at Storybrooke General could possibly submit "heart crushed to dust by mayor" as a legitimate cause of death. And having just found Michael Tillman of all people locked away in an abandoned basement, the fireman wasn't entirely sure that _anyone _could be trusted anymore. Anyone…save for Emma. For some reason, he felt moved to help her, to protect her from, at the moment, herself.

"I…" she said softly as they heaved the last bit of dirt over her friend's body, "I never thought to ask…if he had any family."

Michael and Matt stared at each other, slightly startled for they were the first words she'd uttered since he'd expired. "I…don't…think so," Matt said warily, looking over to the town tow-truck guy.

"No," Tillman shook his head in agreement. "No family. Not that I've ever seen or heard of."

Emma continued to stare at the ground. "Never thought to ask," she whispered again.

"Emma," Matt said uncertainly. "This-this," he stepped over to her, gesturing down at the grave, "wasn't your fault."

"The hell it wasn't," came her terse reply, again taking Matt by surprise. "Everything is my fault." Tillman came around the gravesite and joined them, still playing catch up, though his time in the library had clearly made it easy for him to believe the improbable. "Graham's death, Henry's disappearance…" finally she lifted her gaze from the earth to Michael, "your kids. All because of me."

Letting instinct guide him, Clancy placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "How can you say that when we all _saw_ what happened?" he glanced at Tillman who nodded in agreement. "Emma, Regina was clutching his-his…" he paused and gulped, "his heart! Now I don't have a clue how the hell that's possible, but it definitely wasn't _you _in that mirror."

"And it was _John_ who came into my home and drugged me," Tillman supplied, he too guided by the same inexplicable drive to ensure that this young woman stay on the right path. "Seconds before _you _were coming back…with my children."

Emma finally seemed to process their voices and looked between them, amazed. Sheer logic should have sent them both either sprinting from her, spreading panic and confusion to the public and screaming bloody murder, or at least on the path of pure denial. But they'd reacted to the sight of Regina standing beside her bureau of hearts with remarkable clarity. Maybe Gold was right. The more happy endings they restored in the town, the easier it must be to suspend disbelief, the easier it must be to battle doubt. For them to have even stuck around, let alone helped her bury Graham, had to be due at least in some part to magic.

The three of them were silent, each reflecting similarly on the situation before them before the deputy finally spoke again. "There's some shelter not far from here," she said with an odd tone of resolve, brushing the dirt from her hands as she dropped her shovel to the ground. "Some kind of…cottage," she gestured beyond them toward a particular spot, dense with evergreens, "hidden underground. You should both make your way there." She gave them a sort of final nod, turned and headed back toward the town.

Tillman and Clancy glared at each other and then started after her. "And what are _you_ gonna do?" asked Matt.

"Whadya think?" she replied, not stopping.

"Emma, you can't just…go after her!" he yelled, stepping quickly over the fallen branches and protruding stumps along the path to catch up to her, Michael following closely behind.

"Why not?"

"Because she'll – she'll kill you!"

"Not if I kill her first—" she reached down to her holster and grabbed the same gun he'd caught her with early that morning.

"Emma wait," he reached her and grabbed her arm, turning her around. "Look," he said with a light pant, "I still don't know what _exactly _happened back there with the sheriff, but it's pretty clear that Mayor Mills is one seriously dangerous—"

"Bitch," she finished for him, shrugging out of his grasp. "Who needs to die before she has a chance to kill anyone else," she spat, then glanced up at him with a start, seeming to remember something. "Why do you think I went there this morning?" She waved the gun in front of her as if to remind him of the same.

Matt staggered back as if she'd kicked him. "Whoa, this is _my _fault now?" he almost bellowed.

"Wh-what happened this morning?" asked Michael, having finally joined them. They were now only a few hundred feet from the nearest road that lead back into Storybrooke.

Emma looked down, pinched the ridge of her nose and sighed. _Get a grip, Emma!_ she told herself. "No," she spoke softly to Matt. "No of course not."

"What happened this morning?" Michael asked again but he was interrupted by a pack of voices that seemed especially out of place right now given the way the snowstorm had kept everyone indoors all day. But dusk was descending on Storybrooke and the snow was letting up. Approaching them from the very edge of town were a small throng of alcohol-emboldened townspeople, all with varying degrees of the "Storybrooke haze" across their faces, yelling, pointing and rushing right for her. "There she is!" she heard someone distinctly from the within the horde.

"What the hell—"

"Do they mean you?"

"Whado they think they're doing—"

"You heard the mayor!" another voice screamed and only then did Emma notice the crazed expressions coupled with every kind of makeshift weapon imaginable – from shovels and pitchforks to chains and rope. _You heard the mayor…_they'd said. So this was it. They were after her. _Regina _was after her. The town had arrived to give their crazy mayor…exactly what she wanted.

"Emma, we gotta run," said Matt, tugging on her jacket sleeve.

"Hand her over, Clancy!" spat a man with a scruffy orange beard and a woolen cap dipped over one eye.

"Emma, let's go!" cried Michael, having completely given up making sense of anything at this point and was responding only to the threat of more obstacles standing between him and his children.

"Emma!" they both cried again, but Emma remained still.

_Let 'em take me, _she thought, staring down the mob with icy resolve. If Regina wanted her, she could have her. They could lead her _right _to the queen's blood-stained doorstep and when she was finished beating the mayor to within an inch of her life, forcing her to give up the location of Henry and the other children, she could put a bullet through her head—

"EMMA!" cried Matt, and in desperation, lunged for her hand and clasped it tight. Her gloves were off and his hands were bare, and as soon as they touched, the world flashed white and Emma felt herself flung away from the present. _Dammit! _she cried out in her head, still never quite prepared for what, by now, had happened several times, consistently upon direct contact. _Not now!_ But as she felt her soul hurled toward her destination, she realized something was different. She felt almost as if she were being pulled in another direction, quite unlike her previous visits. When she finally "landed" it seemed like she was right back where she started, staring up into Matt Clancy's eyes.

"Why do you keep saying that?" he demanded of her and she felt his hands close tightly around her forearms.

"Because it's true," she found herself replying, though in her mind she hadn't a clue what they were arguing about. It was a vision unlike any other she'd had. First of all, she'd always been a sort of ghost-like observer, watching in the background of various scenes, unnoticed by the people whose memories played out before her. But here, she was actually living it – an active participant, it seemed – thrust back into her own body as a character _in_ her vision rather than its sole audience. But even that wasn't the strangest part. This was not a memory. And she knew it with absolute certainty. For the first time, her vision had taken her to some place in the future. "Too much depends on restoring your happy ending," she said, feeling as if she were remembering the lyrics to a song she knew ages ago.

"Ugh!" Matt threw his head back, "There you go again with the happy ending thing. Look, even if I believed all that stuff back there," he pointed vaguely behind them but just like her previous vision of Matt, the background was dark and shaded from view. "And I'm not saying that I don't. But I _promise _you, if I really am th-this prince, king, Philip-person, there's still no way that Dawn is my wife!" he spluttered, and from the frazzled look on his face, she could tell it had been a challenge for him to even get out the words. _So sometime in the near future – _she guessed, glancing down, seeing they were wearing the same clothes – _we tell Clancy that he's Philip. _That_ clearly went over well. _

"You just don't remember," she said as if compelled to, breaking free from his hold. "I'm telling you, once we find her—"

"And I'm telling you," he grabbed her again and spun her around, "curse or no curse, Dawn Charles is _Davis's _girl, not mine. I think I would know if I'd ever had feelings for Dawn."

"That's the point!" she tried to shrug out of his hold again, but he was holding her too tight. And too close…_way _too close. "You _wouldn't _know. The curse gave you a new identity. New memories. New—" she tried to explain, and as the vision went on, the line between her future self and her real self continued to blur. It was as if she could anticipate the responses. She knew what she was supposed to say. What she _would _say eventually. In fact, there was some part of her, she supposed, that thought this was cool…or would have had he not been holding her so very…very close.

"Yeah yeah, some sort of twisted mind-wipe. I get it. I saw the mayor crush a man's heart to ash yesterday. I can buy just about anything. But I'm telling you," he steadied her, towering over her, and Emma only just realized how tall he really was. "I'm _sure _of it. I've never been in love…not yet." As he said it, his voice softened to a low, throaty rumble and his gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth. _Holy shit!_ she thought as panic sunk in, and she couldn't tell if it was herself or future-Emma thinking it. _He's…he's gonna…is he going to_— but her brain froze up leaving only her heart in place as Clancy's head darted down. His hands moved from her arms to cup her face and he tilted her head back. "Believe me," he said softly, barely above a whisper, "if I _have _a happy ending…" but he didn't finish. He didn't need to. And Emma didn't pull back as he drew her into an electrifying kiss.

The world flashed white again as his arms fully enveloped her and she was wrenched away from the blissful embrace with the taste of him still on her lips. Slammed back into the present, the vision evaporating, Tillman was back and an angry mob was still headed her way. "Emma come _on_!" cried Clancy who still had hold of her hand and obviously hadn't noticed she'd been anywhere. This fact, however, no longer surprised her. To anyone else, her visions lasted mere seconds, regardless of how long she spent in the past…or, now, the future. She yanked her hand from his as if it were laced with poison, having _no _desire to go back to…whatever the hell _that_ was. Unsure whether her heart was racing because of the vision itself or the kiss, either way her wrath had dulled enough for her to be sensible and finally, she turned to run. The mob picked up speed, seeing that she no longer stood there ready and willing to be captured. Emma, Matt and Michael ducked back into the woods, Emma overtaking the men quickly and leading them toward the toll bridge as her mother had instructed. She supposed it wasn't the brightest idea in the world, bringing a riled up mob to their only place of refuge right now, but she didn't see any other option. Glancing behind her as she ran, she noticed a few of the bulkier, beer-bellied folks tiring almost instantly and unable to keep up, but a handful of them, seeming both angry and terrified, were still out for blood. Why in the world were they – _Fuck, _she thought, remembering the image of the queen appearing in the mirror of Clancy's truck. Regina must have plastered her face on every mirror in town. What exactly did she _say _to them?

She couldn't very well stop and ask, of course, though the size of the mob was gradually diminishing. And the guys were keeping pace pretty well, even with Michael's injury, so if they just kept running—

A fallen branch protruding from nowhere clipped her ankle and sent her crashing to the cold forest floor. Michael and Matt overshot her before they could stop, and the group was suddenly upon her, each clambering to be the first to lay claim to their prey. Emma grunted as Matt called out to her, rushing to help her up, but it was no use. She turned to the mob, getting a good look for the first time at who was after her. There were five remaining of the group, and as they drew closer, she wasn't the least bit surprised to find that Dr. Whale was the leader of the pack. Emma reached behind her, grabbing for her gun only to find it gone from her holster. _Shit!_

"Whadya want Whale?" she spat angrily as she felt Matt's grip lock under her arms and hoist her up.

Whale and the rest slowed to a halt, stopping a few feet before them in a standoff, knowing they couldn't very well just grab her with Clancy and Tillman on either flank. "I think you know," Whale said, "or you wouldn't be running." He was holding some sort of iron rod, hardly a sophisticated weapon for a doctor but it would do the job if he got close enough.

"Well generally when people scream _get her _and start tearing after you with blunt objects, you don't really need a _reason _to run," she replied. Matt actually snickered.

"Don't play dumb, Deputy," shouted the man with the scruffy, orange beard, standing behind the doctor. "You heard her. You must've seen it. Everyone in _town _saw it."

"Saw what?" she spluttered, looking back at Whale and only then did she notice an expression in his face besides that of a hunter. It was fear…terror.

"24 hours, Miss Swan. That's what she said."

"That's right," cried a dark-haired man to his left. "24 hours b'fore she _kills _someone else!"

Emma gasped, clasping her hand against her chest as she felt her heart drop. "Th-_that's_ what she said?"

"Don't listen to 'em, Emma," said Matt, equally freaked by what the men had just claimed, but hardly willing to take their word as proof.

"You keep outta this, Clancy," spat Whale, pointing an accusing finger up at him. "'Fact, I'm surprised to see you here. Aren't you in the business of _saving _people's lives?"

"At the expense of others, Whale? No. Not how it works and you know it," Emma heard him say behind her then caught her breath as she felt him slip something cold into her palm. Her gun! Somehow he'd ended up with her gun!

Dr. Whale, meanwhile, was in no mood for a Hippocratic lesson from the playboy medic. Regina wanted Emma. What she _did _with Emma was not his concern. All he knew (though he wasn't sure _how _he knew) was that Regina would be crushing one of those hearts for every day they failed to deliver Emma. And somehow, Whale had a feeling that was bad news for him.

"_At the expense of others_," spat the red-bearded man then nodded toward Emma. "If she had any dignity at all, she'd turn _herself_ in. But I ain't gonna waste time waitin' for you to develop a conscience, Deputy so—" he lunged for her, winding back with what looked to be a wrench in his hand. The advance spurred the entire group into momentary chaos as both sides started forward, Emma raising her arm to take aim. But almost as soon as it began, something whooshed right past Emma's ear and sank into the flesh of the bearded man's hand. He cried out in agony, dropping the wrench before it could make contact. He clutched his left hand to his shaking wrist and stared in disbelief at a small arrow protruding through his palm.

Whale gaped at the archaic weapon while his buddy continued screaming. "What the f—"

"Language good Doctor!" bellowed a husky, female voice behind them, and all turned in shock as a stout, stocky old woman emerged from a cluster of dogwoods beyond the glade – an expertly handled crossbow in her arms, trained on Dr. Whale.

"Granny!?" Emma gasped as Michael and Matt gaped behind her.

"Stay outta this, Marie!" shouted Whale as he shoved the bleeding, whimpering man behind him and stepped toward the old diner owner.

"The name's Lynette, Whale. And while I don't have a clue who _you _might be, I have reason to believe this young lady is the daughter of a dear friend of mine," she glanced at Emma, a warm twinkle in her eye that inexplicably put Emma completely at ease, so much so that she holstered her own weapon. "A friend who's more like family ta me. And I'll not have you harmin' my kinfolk." The woman's grip was locked and steady, seemingly unaffected by the cold or the fact that one of Whale's companions was pounding the head of a rubber mallet threateningly against his palm, inching toward her. Minutely, she adjusted her aim a few degrees toward the mallet man and he stopped. "Try it son. It's been a long time since I got to use one of these and my trigger finger is mighty itchy."

Emma actually snorted through her nose as she watched the scene unfold and for the first time in _hours_, she smiled.

"You really think you can take all of us by yourself, lady?"

Granny just grinned. "Who said I'm by myself?"

On cue, another arrow sailed through the air, embedding itself in the thigh of the dark-haired man's leg. Instantly he dropped the rope he'd been holding. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" screamed the man, clutching his white palms to his leg. The rest of the group whirled around to see Ruby, or – as Emma now knew – Red Riding Hood emerging from the opposite end of the glade.

"Oops," said the raven-haired beauty, a crossbow of her own trained on her recent target and a sassy smile on her face. "Sorry about that, Gran," she winked. "I was aiming for the rope." Red was dressed _very _differently than Emma had ever seen her. Instead of the short, skimpy, far-too-little-for-this-kind-of-weather ensemble of red silk and leather, she was in jeans and work boots with a grey flannel shirt gathered in a modest tie at her waist…and a beautiful red cloak draped about her shoulders.

Not bothering to stick around to see how many other crazy women with crossbows would be appearing from the darkening forest, Whale and his pals at last relented, scampering back toward town.

Satisfied that the mob had dispersed, Granny and Red both lowered their weapons and converged on the spot where Emma, Matt and Michael were all standing, slightly dumbfounded. There was a warm, matronly look in Granny's eye, a look Emma frankly had seen in her often, and as she approached, Emma had a feeling that Granny Lynette was probably not much different from Granny "Marie."

"Mr. Clancy," Granny nodded at the fireman whom she knew only from Storybrooke. She turned to Michael. "Hello, Kurtis."

Tillman started, his mouth still hanging open from all he'd just witnessed. "I'm uh…I'm—"

"'Michael Tillman', of course of course," she waved him off without an explanation and turned to face the beautiful woman before her who so clearly had her mother's eyes and father's spirit. "And you…must be Emma," she said softly, with a warm hitch in her throat.

Emma nodded as Red joined them. And then both stood before her, beaming, and Emma felt suddenly like an estranged niece at a family reunion, fawned over by relatives who all apparently knew her as a baby. Just before the silence grew awkward, Granny handed Red her weapon and then pulled Emma in for a big hug, squeezing her tightly around the shoulders and praising the gods for the safe return of her friends' child. "I'm so very pleased to know you, Emma," said the woman, drawing back, so overcome with emotion that her voice sounded hoarse. She gestured beside her, taking her weapon back. "This, of course, is Red."

The girl smirked, placing a comforting hand on her grandmother's shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "We _do _know each other already, Gran."

"And I'm Lynette Lucas," she said, ignoring the girl. After all, it wasn't every day a woman woke up and realized she'd once rented a room to the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. Such a distinguished guest deserved a proper greeting, no matter how belated.

Granny clasped Emma's hand and Emma held her breath, waiting for her superpower to whisk her away to someplace else and rob her of this special moment. But nothing happened. It was a solid, simple handshake.

"But please," said Lynette after a time, "call me Granny."

…

The shop was dark and looked empty, but that wasn't about to stop Snow from kicking down the door, marching inside and demanding the little imp tell her where Emma was before she shot his miserable, shriveled up face of his full of arrows. No doubt spurred on by that shot of adrenaline one always hears of when talk turns to that of mothers protecting their young (miraculously lifting small cars off fallen children and whatnot), Snow White had spent very little time 'quaking in her boots' following Regina's threatening edict in the mirror. In fact, Prince Adam himself quite nearly felt intimidated by the swift action taken by the princess as she'd started rummaging through the old cottage, instructing her seven brethren to finish uncovering the relatively small stock pile of weaponry she knew Grumpy and James had stored here when they'd boarded it up and moved to the palace. Something, the whispers of fate no doubt, had told her they may be back here someday and had suggested it to James the morning after their final siege to retake the kingdom.

Grumpy and his brothers were able to dig up five of their seven pick axes, three swords – two of which were handed immediately to Adam and Frederick – two grappling hooks, a couple hundred feet of rope…and Snow's bow. Well, one of many anyway. She was low on arrows of course, only a few dozen. But if she could get close enough to the queen, one would be enough.

"You know, _this _world has far deadlier weapons," Frederick had said rather impatiently as he used some of the rope to rig up a shoddy looking sheath on his modern belt.

"Weapons you know how to use better than that?" she'd pointed down at its blade with one of the arrows she was busy bundling together in a makeshift quiver.

"I'm pretty sure I could figure out how to shoot a gun," he'd snapped back, then dropped his gaze, struggling between the persona of former knight and more recent gym teacher. In truth, he was glad that Snow's plan was one of immediate action, but that did nothing to quell the fear nor the anger boiling under his skin at the memory of seeing Regina crushing that heart – the heart that, for all he knew, belonged to his Abigail.

Snow had thought briefly of being rational – pointing out the many little tidbits of information 'Mary Margaret' happened to know about gun laws and safety, not to mention the difficulty of finding a shop in Storybrooke that would be able to sell him one that day – then she thought the better of it. If the man's wife wasn't already dead, she very well could be in less than 24 hours. "Well, if you run across Graham and he's got a spare, by all means shoot to kill," Snow had told him as she'd shouldered her quiver and led the group back out of the caverns.

On the surface, they'd dispersed in teams. Adam had insisted on taking Doc to 'Rose's' house. He was almost certain by this point that something had happened to Belle, but he was also aware that whatever it was may very well have occurred before she'd reached her father. Snow told Grumpy to join them, an order with which the dwarf of course disagreed – Grumpy always did have the softest spot for Snow and argued that James would have wanted him with her – he obviously lost the quarrel and the three of them headed out. Frederick meanwhile led Happy and Sneezy first to the bank where 'Kathryn' worked and then to the Nolan household. Dopey and Sleepy stayed behind to guard the cottage and hopefully greet new arrivals. That left Snow and Archie, and since the old cricket always did have a way of making her see reason, she hoped he might have the same effect on Emma. Emma, whose cell phone must by now be lost or dead as she had yet to respond to any of Snow's messages. Emma, who was _far _too much like her father to do anything other than surrender herself to Regina if she too had heard the ultimatum. No, thought Snow as she trudged through the Snow from Archie's beat up jalopy to Mr. Gold's front door. She _must _find Emma first.

"Gold!" she shouted, banging on the door after finding it locked. Archie came around the corner from having tried the back but shook his head. She looked back at the door and nodded. "All right then, plan B." She slid her bow from her shoulder, grabbed it at the bottom and thrust its pointy edge down at the glass pane. Predictably, it shattered, allowing Snow to reach inside and unbolt the doorknob. She was halfway inside before a bewildered Archie even made his way back to the door.

"Gold!" she shouted again, gripping the handle of her bow tightly and wincing with every step of her booted foot. A fractured ankle wouldn't stop her though, and everyone back at the cottage knew well enough not to even bring it up as she'd secured the straps of her Cam Walker extra tight and walked up the cavern stairwell without help. Now, as she tried awkwardly to tip toe along the narrow aisles of the darkened store, Archie at her heels, the pain was catching up with her. She was about to lean over and catch her breath, but a soft thud from the back room bolted her upright; she yanked an arrow from her quiver, aimed for the curtained area and bellowed, "Rumplestiltskin!"

What she heard was not at all what she expected.

"Don't shoot!" came a youthful male voice, and a distinctly Arabian man appeared from behind the curtain, arms up in the air. He looked wryly at the bow in Snow's tight grip. "If you're here to kill Rumpelstiltskin, we're probably on the same side."

Snow didn't lower her weapon. She hadn't been to Agrabah in years but she knew all about the band of thieves and gypsies that plagued the outskirts of Rushdi's kingdom. For all she knew, this man was one of 'Stiltskin's many peons, awake and back to work after the continued weakening of the curse. "Who are you?" she demanded. But before he had a chance to answer, another emerged from behind him.

"Snow!" cried the young woman in relief as she placed her hands on her husband's arms and lowered them to his sides before stepping out from behind him.

Snow at last lowered her bow and, for perhaps the first time in hours, broke into a wide grin. "Jasmine."

…

One night, not too long ago but before Emma arrived in Storybrooke, 'Leroy' had offered a ride home to Jack Hunter's knockout bartender, Rose. It was, at the time, one of the town drunk's desperate attempts to 'get with' a pretty lady – an attempt that of course failed. But that instance coupled with a dwarf's natural sense of direction led them to Belle and Maurice's house with relative ease. And as they turned down Diamond Lane, the one with Sneezy's closed drugstore on the corner, Grumpy couldn't help but marvel at how much had happened since he and Sleepy had worked their way through the town just this morning, collecting each of their brothers and bringing them down to the cottage. How surreal it was to know that a few hours ago they were playing organ music and taking turns do-si-do'ing with Snow beneath the surface of this hellish little town.

"Which one is it?" Doc asked Grumpy as they passed the first few houses on the block.

Before Grumpy could answer, Adam sucked in a breath and shot his gaze toward the small house just beyond the stop sign. "There," he said without hesitation and started toward the French residence.

Doc glanced at Grumpy who only shrugged and followed suit. Neither were about to question Prince Adam's instincts. When they reached the front stoop, Adam rapped on the door three times, waited all of ten seconds and then jammed his shoulder inward, popping the door open into the small, sunless living room. The dwarfs stepped in behind him, shaking the snow from their shoulders and sleeves as the prince marched through the kitchen and down the hall. "Belle?" he shouted, straining his head around every corner until at last he arrived at Maurice's room. The old man was half sitting up, half lying in the bed, wide-eyed and bewildered at the strange man who had just forced his way into their home. Instinctively, he pulled the sheet up to his chin, shrinking his head back against his pillow, though when he spoke, he did so forcefully enough.

"Who are you?" he said. "What are you doing in my house?"

Adam, who had considered it far more likely to find the house deserted than not, actually jumped at the sight of him, then instantly softened. "Maurice," he said, adjusting his tone and starting toward him. But Doc had quickly sidled into the room behind him and held him back.

"He doesn't know you, remember?" he hissed as he circled in front of the towering beast and settled into the chair beside his former patient. "How are you feeling Mo?" asked Doc.

"Doctor Stone?" said Mo, his eyes now darting back and forth between the strange man and SG's chief surgeon. "I-I wasn't aware doctors s-still made house calls."

The longer he talked, the more he betrayed his fatigue and Doc grew quickly concerned. This man had had no medication for at least 12 hours, and had been bedridden for just as long. Something definitely had happened to Belle. She would not have neglected his prescribed therapy and treatment this long. "Just checking up on a friend, Mo. Is Be—er um, Rose here?" he asked pointedly, half for Adam's sake, reminding him of Belle's Storybrooke alias.

Mo shook his head. "No," he said quietly, licking his chapped lips and attempting to sit up as the doctor continued his examination. At that moment, a third man appeared in the doorway, one with a black, scruffy beard and large nose who looked vaguely familiar. Mo was certain he'd seen him about town.

"Do you know where she is?" asked Grumpy, his tone betraying his limited patience.

"I um," Mo looked down, shaking his head and furrowing his brow. His face was screwed up in tight contemplation as if he were trying to recall a memory from decades past. "I assume she went…with her boss."

It was Grumpy who bolted forward. "Her _boss_?!" he seethed. Adam stepped forward too, though he was more reacting to the spike in the dwarf's anxiety than anything Maurice had said.

"Y-yes," said Mo, brow still creased. "H-he stopped by a while ago t-to…pick her up. He said they'd arranged to drive to the docks together. To receive some kind of shipment."

"Shipment?" asked Adam. Grumpy waved him off.

Mo looked around, as if at last realizing Rose was indeed not there. "I-I must have dozed off before she came back. I-I'm sure she'll be back soon."

Adam had had enough and grabbed Grumpy by the collar, yanking him back toward the doorway. "What?!" he snapped.

Grumpy bit his lip, looking between him and Doc. "Bel—uh!…_Rose _used to work at the local bar, Garcon's," he muttered in a low voice as Doc returned to his checkup.

"Yes, she said as much, go on," ordered the prince, arms folded tightly across his chest.

"Well…" Grumpy glanced around, suddenly wishing James were here. Snow's husband had a _much_ gentler way of breaking bad news, and Grumpy had no knack for diplomacy. "The owner's a…well pardon for sayin' so, Highness, but he was a rat bastard. Name's Jack Hunter. Treated all his employees like shit and Be-uh errrrrrrRose was no exception."

"Ease back there, Mo," Doc was saying, keeping one ear on the conversation.

"And?" Adam asked, knowing just from the heightened agitation that Grumpy was leaving something out.

Grumpy cleared his throat. "Well, I can't be sure, having never seen him myself of course but—"

"What?"

"From everything James told me back then, and everything Snow's been tellin' me now, I think Jack Hunter is actually…that same guy who…went after Belle b'fore your wedding."

Adam's nostrils flared and Grumpy could see his biceps flex even through the thin layer of scrubs Adam was still wearing. "Gaston?" he seethed, though his low growl was an almost imperceptible whisper.

"If he was here," Grumpy went on, a little louder now, "you can bet he was up to no good."

The prince was about to dash out of the room when Mo, becoming a bit more alert thanks to Doc, thrust his hand forward and shook his finger. "No no, he was quite civil to me. I'm sure she's fine. In fact, if I'm not mistaken the two of them were seeing each other."

If Mo sensed the immediate chill in the room, he didn't let on, but it certainly didn't escape the notice of Doc or Grumpy as they watched Adam's face drain of color and then fill with white hot rage. "What?"

"I don't think she wanted me to know but," Mo obliviously continued to Doc whom he wrongly supposed, given Doc's age, probably knew a thing or two about parenthood. "Fathers, you know. We have a sense."

Briefly – almost pathetically – Grumpy thought that perhaps Adam might not understand the phrase _seeing each other, _but it was obvious that Adam had gleaned more than enough from context. Without a word, the war hero spun on his heel and strode down the hallway.

"Adam!" Grumpy called after him, "Your Highness!" he hissed, catching up at the door. "The old man's sick, practically senile. He doesn't know what he's—"

"No," Adam shook his head, about to throw open the door. Then he stopped, noting the front closet and wrenched it open instead, rummaging around until he found a long black coat that had clearly belonged to 'Mo' at a younger age. Adam shrugged it on, and Grumpy noted that the sleeves didn't quite reach low enough. But even over his blue scrubs, the long, flowing look added to the already menacing pierce of his gaze. "No, it's perfectly clear," he said steadily, and the quiet calm in his voice startled Grumpy even more so than he imagined a bellowing rage would. "This…this is what she feared of telling me."

"Prince Adam," Grumpy tried again. "W-we were cursed. Surely you understand she wouldn't have known—"

"I would appreciate your refraining from comment on what is clearly a _private _matter, dwarf," Adam said curtly. And before Grumpy could get in another word, the beast was gone.

…

Frederick knew something was wrong the instant they pulled up to the Nolans' house and found the garage door hanging open. James's car was still parked in the driveway and a quick glance inside the tinted windows revealed all the supplies Snow said he'd gone back to gather in addition to retrieving Abigail. Sneezy ducked under the door and checked the garage just to be safe while Frederick and Happy inspected the driveway, finding a disturbing splattering of blood on the concrete outside the door. Clearly James had been abducted, which was bad news of course because that probably meant others who were due down in the cottage and hadn't yet arrived had been abducted too: namely Belle, Thomas, Ella, Marco and Christopher. Sneezy suggested to Frederick that this probably included Abigail, but the knight had a terrible feeling that told him otherwise.

"We need to check the house," he told them without waiting for a reply, and he raced up the front porch. It was to be a day of breaking down doors, for Frederick didn't wait much longer after the unanswered knock than Adam had at the French household before he shoved inside. "Abby?" he called, and a sickening dread pervaded him as soon as he stepped into the seemingly normal home. "Abby? James?"

The house was dark, curtains drawn, their footsteps thunking loudly on the hard wood floors. Frederick checked the kitchen, the den and dining room while Sneezy jogged down the basement steps. Happy moved to the back sitting room where a large bay window overlooked the small backyard. It was a cozy enough looking home, though he knew better than to ponder whether 'David and Kathryn Nolan' had shared any semblance of a happy life here. Regina had concocted a brilliant illusion – a waste of time really, Happy thought with an unavoidable smirk. For no bond was stronger than that of Prince James and Snow's.

He was about to turn out of the room to check elsewhere when something outside caught his eye: a rustling beyond the tree line that edged the yard. He'd noticed on the way over here that the Nolan's street ran along the north edge of town, but hadn't realized until now that their very yard butted up along the edge of the backwoods that eventually led deeper into the forest. And watching the movement through the trees, though at first he was uncertain with the snow pelting down hard, Happy eventually made out the very distinct impression of a man running through the wood. "Hey!" he called out toward the window, which of course went unheard. "James!" he shouted. "Your Highness!" his happy voice rang through the house drawing the others into the room.

"What is it?"

Happy pointed to the man excitedly. "Don't you see him?"

Sneezy followed his gaze and indeed saw someone running. "I don't think that's the prince."

"Only one way to find out," Happy jumped up and flew for the front door. He was positive it was James and the dwarf's unwavering optimism couldn't convince him otherwise. Happy he never doubted for a moment that Snow's charming prince would avoid the queen's grasp. Absolutely nothing would keep him away from their Snow. Oh how happy she would be when they brought him back and—

Happy got as far as the tree line and stopped, noting for the first time how very different this man's gait was. In fact, everything was different – his build, his size, his hair color, and the leather coat he'd obviously shrugged into haphazardly. _No_, Happy's shoulders slumped, dejected. It wasn't James after all. But the dwarf didn't remain sad for long; it was still the first sign of life they'd seen since setting out from the cottage. And this young man looked like he could use some help. "Hey!" Happy waved and shouted. The man seemed to stumble out of his clunky trudge through the forest and whipped around. He was young, handsome, with dark crew-cut hair, and looked to be wearing some sort of name badge peeking out underneath his lined jacket. "Where you headed friend?"

He glanced around him, squinting through the forest which, by now, he felt he'd been travelling in circles. Was the funny little man with the short, amber beard a figment of his exhaustion-induced imagination? The same imagination that may have concocted these strange images in his brain of people being flung across the admin area? Or Dawn being kidnapped? Or Maeve telling him to listen to a bunch of birds for directions? But the longer he stared, the clearer it was that the little man was real, and as it was the first real sign of life since leaving the hospital, Trent Davis started toward the yard.

"What're you _doing_?" hissed Sneezy as he caught up to his overly jovial brother – boy Happy had truly reverted to form. "How do we – " he paused and sneezed – "know that's someone we should trust?"

Happy was still waving as he answered aside, "I've got a feeling ok? He looks like he's lost."

He sneezed again. "Yeah and if he's one of the queen's newly awakened allies then—"

"Hey friend, where ya running to?" Happy cut off his brother as Trent squeezed between two particularly prickly branches and spilled out into the yard.

"I'm uh…not really sure," panted Trent. Maeve had told him to find the toll bridge, but in truth, though he'd lived in Storybrooke for – well, for as long as he could remember – he'd never once ventured beyond the main road separating the forest from the town. He didn't know where the toll bridge was and, as for Maeve's other bizarre command, had _no _idea how to talk to birds. As a result, Trent had been circling the forest aimlessly for what seemed like hours. "I'm uh, supposed to be looking for…for—" he paused and stepped back. "Who are _you _guys?"

Happy seemed about to answer (Sneezy ready to clock him on the head for revealing too much), when the entire group was stunned cold by a blood-curdling scream. All three whipped around and looked up at the Nolan's upstairs window. In a flash, they dashed inside and tore up the steps to the second-floor hallway.

"Nooo, Abby…Gods no," Frederick was weeping and all three men gasped as they beheld the frail, limp body of Princess Abigail half pulled into Frederick's lap, collapsed in the open doorway of the bathroom at the end of the hall. "Abby!" he cried, holding her against his chest. "My love, Abby," he muttered, his face wet with streaming tears.

The funny little men were too stunned to move, but Trent leapt into action. In an instant, he sped down the hall, shrugged out of his jacket and fell to his knees beside her. "What happened, sir?" he asked, forcefully removing the woman from the man's arms and laying her down on the cool tile.

"I f-found her in here, just…just laying here…s-she did it. She actually killed her. She's _killed _her!—"

"Hey," Trent grabbed his arm, a tight grip that demanded focus. "Hey! What's your name?"

"Frederick."

"Frederick. And this is Abby?"

Frederick nodded.

"All right, Frederick," he said in a calm, reassuring voice, the source of which he couldn't honestly explain if he tried except for the fact that here was a patient in trouble, and Trent knew he could help. "I need your help right now, ok? Abby is still breathing, but it's faint and she's very limp."

Frederick jerked his head down. "S-she is? She's breathing? I didn't—" his voice trembled. When he'd spotted her laying like that, he'd been so convinced it had been her heart in the mirror after all.

"Yes, but as I said it's faint. Now, do you _know_ her sir? Are you related?"

"S-she's my wife."

"Has she been taking anything recently? Anti-depressants? Pain killers?"

Frederick's eyes shot up again. "What?! No why?"

By this time the other two men had recovered from their shock and were standing by, watching and feeling helpless. Trent continued. "Abby's exhibiting signs of overdose, Frederick. I need to know what she's taking." _Come on, man, _he thought, rolling his eyes, _why are these enablers always so reluctant to spit it out, even when their partners are at death's door?_

Frederick, however, had gone numb and couldn't seem to form words. Nothing made sense. Abby seemingly dead on the floor, but breathing? So it _hadn't_ been her heart in Regina's hand, but she was still unconscious with no sign of injury…and now some guy was asking him about pain killers—

"Wait, what's that?" cried Happy as he pointed to a tiny orange canister tucked away behind the toilet, looking as if it had fallen or been tossed there. Trent leaned past Frederick and grabbed it. Sure enough, it was a small – empty – prescription bottle.

"David Nolan – Oxycodone HCL – 30 milligrams – take as directed by Dr. Joseph Whale," he muttered to himself, reading the label aloud and trying hard to avoid any note of reprimand in his voice. _No pain pills huh? _"Who's David Nolan?" Trent asked, though the name sounded familiar.

"Her husband," Frederick responded blankly.

The other two men sucked in a breath as Trent double-taked and glared at him. "I thought _you _were her husband!"

Frederick started, seeming to at last realize his blunder, but how was he ever going to explain the ridiculous nature of the Kathryn-David-Abigail-Frederick tangle of identities—

"Frederick," Abigail muttered suddenly, her voice a breathless whisper as if speaking in a deep sleep.

"Abby!" Frederick cried leaning down toward his wife before Trent thrust his arm out.

"Stay back, sir. This is good but I need you to stay back. Abby? Abby, my name's Trent. Can you hear me?"

"F-Frederick she…she made me do it—"

"Abby I'm right here—"

"Ma'am I need to know how much of this you took. How much was left in the bottle—"

"S-she was c-controlling me again…James…I think I – James…I'm so sorry Snow…she made me…"

"Abby!" Frederick cried, squeezing her hand. So the queen _had_ used his wife; she _had _manipulated her heart – to betray them, just as she'd been fearing.

"She's delirious," said Trent who didn't for a second try to comprehend what the woman was muttering. "You," he pointed at Happy while he yanked his phone from his jacket pocket and tossed it up. "Call 9-1-1. And you—"

"Need an emetic?" Sneezy asked, his drugstore owner alter-ego kicking in as he at last put together both sides of what was happening here: Abigail had been used by the queen, used to abduct James no doubt since she was deliriously apologizing to Snow. When the witch was finished, princess Abigail had been left alone with her guilt – left alone to face the one thing of which the poor girl was most afraid – the queen's ability to make her turn on her friends. Terrified she'd hurt someone else, she seemed to have downed all of David Nolan's pain pills from when he'd been in therapy for his shoulder, something druggist 'Tom Clark' knew all too well could be fatal if they couldn't get it out of her system fast. What a disaster!

Trent was surprised by the man's impressive assessment, then finally recalled the face and realized it was the town pharmacist he was talking to. He nodded. "Yeah. Check the kitchen; see what you can dig up. Either a salt or mustard solution at least if you don't find anything else," he said, then turned back to Abigail. "Abby, I'm gonna help you up to your knees here and then I need you to focus, all right? You've been poisoned," he called to her as if she were 15 feet away while he and Frederick hoisted her up. "And you need to throw it up. All right? Abby? Do you understand me?"

For the next twenty minutes, the strange band of souls – one soul still cursed, others free – managed to treat Abigail with a creative home remedy emetic and unwavering vigilance. By the time the ambulance pulled in and Mark Ross hopped out of his rig, they'd already cleared her stomach and were in the process of rehydrating her.

"Glad you were here, Davis," said Ross with a sardonic grin on his face as Abby was soon loaded into the rig with Frederick behind her. "Looks like you showed up for work after all."

Trent blinked, not understanding. Then it dawned on him. "Oh!" he slapped himself on the forehead. "Jeez, Rossy, I'm sorry. I got completely sidetracked at – "

"We know, Rookie," said Doug Greene – Rossy's partner – as he came around the other side of the van and swung the doors shut. "We're just messing with you. We know you were there when that shit went down at the hospital. Ten different staffers confirmed you'd been knocked out in the chaos. Old Maeve said you went home with a nasty bump on the head."

"Yeah," chuckled Rossy, "at least you have an excuse. Clancy called me in to sub, but Chief is still madder than a blind man at a strip club. Third call-off in two weeks."

"Clancy," Trent muttered himself as bits of pieces of the day came back together and Matt's voice echoed in his head…_I already got Rossy to cover my shift, but Chief is convinced I'm just fighting another hangover, so he's probably gonna ask you today when you get in. _

"He uh," Trent gulped, "he said was…sick."

Greene just rolled his eyes. "Uh huh, yeah. Must be real nauseating spending the entire evening with Donna Andersen."

Trent shrugged. He'd known Clancy's lame excuse wouldn't fly with the guys, let alone Chief.

"Gotta say, kid, you've missed one hell of a shift," added Doug as he walked the two of them around to the front of the van. "You catch that smoke and mirrors show the mayor somehow pulled off? Hell, we haven't had so many calls in—" a hazy look crossed his face before he continued – "well, _ever_ I think. Panic attacks, heart attacks, small riots. It's a mess out there."

"Smoke and mirrors show?"

"Yeah," Rossy hopped in the driver's seat and thumped his fist against the door, staring down at Trent. "Real Hollywood _eff-ex _stuff if you ask me. Anyway, be glad you ain't at 'the house' right now, Rookie. Take care o' that bump on the head. 'S gonna be a long week." Rossy slammed the rig into drive and was about to speed off, but at that moment, the small man with the enduring grin appeared from behind Trent and launched forward, laying his hand on the edge of Rossy's window. "So…you _saw_ the…the mirror thing with the mayor?"

The medic glanced down at Happy's hand, perturbed, but nodded. "Yeah. What a crock right? A little late for Halloween if y'ask me." And with that, they drove off.

Trent didn't know how long he stood, watching the ambulance recede into the distance, but he was acutely aware that the short man was still standing next to him, waiting it seemed until the right moment to speak up again.

"What?" Trent asked, more sharply than he had intended.

"You did well back there young man. What's your name?"

"Davis. Trent Davis."

"Trent Davis?" he stuck out his hand. "I'm Hap—" but at that moment Sneezy came up behind him and smacked his shoulder. "Hap-_py _to meet you, Trent," the dwarf recovered, throwing Sneezy a sly grin. "I'm Joel. And this is Tom Clark from—"

"From Diamond Lane Drugs, I know," Trent nodded to both of them. "Thanks for your help."

"Did you uh—" Sneezy sneezed, then glanced warily at Happy. "Did _you _see the mayor's message?"

Trent shook his head, still sorting through the last several hours. In truth, he couldn't make heads or tails of what was real and what wasn't. He did in fact have that nasty bruise on the head, the one that Maeve had helped patch up and the gauze was still there to prove it. Was her hurried explanation of the psycho woman in the hospital and Dawn's abduction just the onset of a concussion playing hallucinogenic tricks on his brain? Perhaps, except, now a whole new set of people were talking about some strange light show of the mayor in a mirror! What the _hell _was going on?

"You seemed—" _sneeze_ "—a little lost back there," Sneezy continued. "Said you were supposed to be looking for something?"

Trent hugged his arms and huffed. Just why exactly did it seem he was being interrogated all of a sudden? Hadn't he just saved that woman's life? He glanced between the two men, Tom looking just as incredulous as he sounded and Joel looking – well – in far too good a mood. In the end, he supposed these two had more answers than he did. And…_Follow the path out toward the toll bridge…_Maeve had said…_You'll run into some friends along the way…_ Were these the 'friends' he was supposed to run into? "I was s'posed to be," he started slowly, "looking for the…toll bridge."

Trent couldn't immediately tell if the effect was a good one, for both men bristled. "The toll bridge huh?" asked Joel, elbowing Tom in the ribcage in a manner so devoid of subtly, it prompted Tom to roll his eyes, grab Joel by the sleeve and drag him away, urging Trent to stay put.

"What exactly does that tell us?" Sneezy hissed when they were out of earshot.

"Someone told him to find _us!_" cried Happy excitedly. "The toll bridge is the spot where the animals start leading—"

"I know that, Happy, but what if that someone who sent him to _find _us is the same someone trying to _kill _us?"

Happy gave his brother a long, wry glare. "Who _are_ you now, Grumpy? Did you _see_ how he saved Abigail just now? This man is not a villain. He's an ally. Probably someone Snow even knows. I say we take him back to the rendezvous and—"

"Excuse me?" said Trent, stepping forward. "Look, you two obviously have something to work out here, and I was actually in the middle of helping someone else, so if you don't mind just pointing me in the direction of—"

"Someone else?" Happy turned back, curious as ever. "Someone else in trouble?"

Trent thought for a moment, glanced again between the two of them, and sighed. What the hell? These two made about as much sense as Maeve. "A nurse named Dawn Charles. She was…taken from the hospital today."

"Taken?" said Sneezy, nudging Happy aside as he too now was wide-eyed with anticipation.

"Yeah, by some crazy doped up woman who came tearing through the ER today, and honestly I—" he paused and ran his hands nervously through his short hair, brushing the snow from his head – "I just don't know what to believe anymore."

"Whadyou mean?" asked both dwarfs together.

Again, he hesitated, but there was something very trusting, at least in Joel's eyes, that to Trent felt oddly comforting. "You two are talkin' about something with the mayor in a mirror today?" They nodded. "Well, I saw a woman fling an armed guard across the admin desk this morning…without even touching him."

Happy and Sneezy gave each other a fierce nod which Trent didn't seem to notice.

"Then she took my friend. Now tell me how _that's _possible."

This time it was Sneezy who replied. "Why don't you stick with us, Trent," he clapped the man on the shoulder. "We're headed for the toll bridge too."

…

"So you're telling me that one of Regina's _and _'Stiltskin's most vicious pawns is tied up in your gym right now and you…left him there?" Snow gaped, unable to keep the hint of criticism from her voice.

But Jasmine and Aladdin just smiled at each other and nodded. "Oh believe me, Snow. He's not going anywhere."

Snow and Archie glanced at each other, both sharing unspoken doubts that the infamous Honest John was indeed secure. However: "Well, I'm not about to argue with the Sultana of Agrabah," she gave her friend an exaggerated head bow and Jasmine chuckled.

"Sultana-_elect_," she quipped. "The curse was enacted only days before my coronation."

Snow nodded then added in a softer, more sincere tone, "I'm so glad for you both. That you're awake. And safe and—"

"Thanks to your daughter, your Highness," Aladdin offered, his own head bowed in a genuine show of respect.

Snow gasped, clasping tightly to Archie's wrist. "You've seen Emma? She was with you?"

Aladdin shook his head. "Not at the gym, but late this morning. She and Graham were with me when I…first jogged my memory. Here in fact," he gestured around the small back stock room area, "where I spotted a pair of—" he glanced down at Jasmine who gazed at him thoughtfully – "well, something special to both of us."

Snow limped along the square table, meeting the couple on the other side. "So she _did _come here. Did she see Rumpelstiltskin? She was looking for her son, Henry. Did he tell her where he is?"

Aladdin sighed and looked down at the map of realms that still lay in the center of the room. Of course, it lacked the luster and mystical glow of 'Stiltskin's touch, but it was enough to recall the imp's elaborate and complex explanation of the curse, its properties, their world and their realms. "Your Highness—"

"_Snow_," she insisted with a soft nod.

"Snow," Aladdin nodded, "You know as well as I do that no one ever gets what they really want with Rumpelstiltskin. But no one leaves empty handed either."

She sighed, rubbing her temples between her thumb and forefinger as Archie gave her other arm a gingerly pat.

"What _did _he tell her?" asked the town shrink.

Aladdin took a deep breath, casting a worried glance at his wife, for he hadn't even gone through it all with her yet. "He…told Emma what needed to be done to break the curse."

Snow's head whipped up. "Break the curse?" she exclaimed. "But – aren't we already doing that?"

Aladdin gave a sympathetic smile. "Emma said the same thing, but no. Apparently not."

The street rat proceeded, as best he could remember, to sum up the gist of 'Stiltskin's lengthy exposition about realms and guardians. When he was finished, Snow looked so overwhelmed that Archie felt compelled to move behind her in case she fainted. "So," she started slowly, thickly, as if the pressures of discovering her responsibilities with regard to the very fate of magic were physically weighing her down, "you and I," she looked up at Jasmine whose expression registered equal shock, "are two of these – these guardians of magic." Aladdin answered for his wife with a nod, but Snow was shaking her head. "That's…that's not possible." She looked up at Archie. "My father would have told me something like that. He was adamant about telling me everything I needed to know when I became queen."

Aladdin looked down, not wanting to give offense to a deceased royal, but it couldn't be helped. "Everything but this. 'Stiltskin said the secret was only ever revealed on the eve of one's coronation. It wasn't even shared between father and son – or, daughter," he said with a sigh then turned to his wife. "You were still a few days yet from yours. In fact, the only one of you who would even be aware of it would be _King _Philip," he turned back to Snow and Archie with a snort, "and trust me, that guy's nowhere _close _to his happy ending."

Snow was silent for a long while, pressing her palms together tightly. A few times she looked as if she would speak, but then closed her mouth again. There were simply too many questions. Finally, Archie asked for her. "How did _Emma _react?" he said softly, placing a hand on Snow's shoulder.

"Bout the same," Aladdin gestured to Snow. "A cross between shock and – er, uh – nausea."

Snow sighed and sunk her head into her hands. "So…" she took a deep breath. "Do you know where Emma and Graham went?"

At this Aladdin looked down a bit sheepishly. "No I uh," he glanced back at his wife, "I bolted for the gym the second I woke up."

Snow started. "Woke up?" she shook her head. "You mean you didn't – weren't you two – you didn't wake up together?"

"No. It happened here. Right outside. After I'd found the," he stopped himself again, "when I found the…this item that—"

"Oh stop being so cryptic. What is it you found?" Jasmine nudged him on the arm, though appreciative that her husband obviously wanted to keep something private.

Aladdin looked down at her warmly. "I found our flutes."

Jasmine gasped, her eyes watering instantly. "You found our flutes?" she swooned, brushing her hand up his arm and squeezing tightly.

Snow shot them a look. "Focus please?"

Jasmine started. "Sorry."

"Anyway," he chuckled, "when I opened the case, I…I – it didn't _do _anything at first." Aladdin looked back at Snow. "Not until Emma touched me."

Snow reeled back. "What? _Emma _woke you? But—"

"I'm not sure why, but when she touched my shoulder, something went through me. And all of a sudden, it was like someone had lifted this – this blindfold from my eyes. She's powerful, your daughter. More than you know. _Way _more than _she _knows."

"But how could her touch affect _you_?" asked Archie, who himself had seen and heard enough of how and why people 'woke up'. He had studied it, in fact, since it was now his most eager desire to remember his own past. Snow too couldn't fathom the connection since every other awakening had been prompted by a reunion or reconciliation of some sort. The only exception, of course, had been her own husband, but James's amnesia accounted for his own recovery.

Aladdin cleared his throat, "I do have a theory about that, but we've gotta find her first. It's…" he glanced down again at his wife. "It's _one_ of the reasons we came back here – to find out where she went. Unfortunately 'Mr. Gold's'not here," he grumbled, holding the pocket of his coat tightly to his side. Snow noted it, but had far too many other things to worry about. "And if Emma saw what _we_ saw—"

"You saw Regina? In the mirror?" Snow cut in.

There was a slight roll of the eye as he nodded. "Oh yeah. Jasmine's gym is wall-to-wall mirrors. We saw her in wide screen."

The four of them stood a moment, each sensing the collective uncertainty of what to do next. Finally, it was Archie who spoke. "We should head back to the toll bridge, Snow. Re-group. See what the others have found."

Snow glanced around at the trinkets adorning the shelves. The prudent thing to do, as James would suggest, would first be to raid Gold's shop and take back those items that belonged with them or might prove to be useful in some way. But she hadn't the energy to spare. Her daughter was out there somewhere. No doubt on a mission to get herself killed. The only consolation she had right now was that Graham was with her. Perhaps he could at least delay her decision to become a martyr to protect the town. In the meantime, Archie was right. They had all agreed to meet back at the bridge within the hour if they'd found anything. And she was pretty sure this new and disturbing revelation about the fates of all their kingdoms qualified.

"You're right," she nodded to Archie who helped her maneuver her clunky boot back out of the narrow path between the table and wall shelving. She glanced back at Aladdin and Jasmine who were remaining still. "Are you coming?"

They glanced nervously at each other. "We…" Jasmine started slowly. "We came to see 'Stiltskin for… something else too. We need to find him."

"Not to make a deal—" Snow exclaimed, alarmed.

"No no, never."

"Then you should come with us," she went on. "You know you won't find 'Stiltskin if 'Stiltskin doesn't want to be found."

"But—"

"Aladdin," Jasmine placed a firm hand on his forearm and shook her head. "She's right. We're not gonna find him here, and if we really do have all this power to protect," she glanced back at a grateful Snow, "then we need to stick together." Then quietly, she added, "You can't even be sure you're right about…the lamp. It can wait."

Reluctantly, Aladdin nodded, and the entire party left immediately for the bridge.

…

"I don't get it," said Emma as she walked beside Granny, pulling her collar up tightly around her neck as the snow and wind whipped through the trees. "You two weren't even speaking to each other. You weren't anywhere _near _your happy ending."

Granny smiled as she glanced over at Red on Emma's left. "Well, your mother dropped by the diner before she headed down to meet you," she replied. "Said a whole lot about curses and fairy tales and forgotten memories that of course made no sense to a sour old biddy like me, but when my entire diner erupted in terror at the sight of their mayor promising vengeance on innocent souls, and a group of them got all fired up and set out to huntin' ya—"

"It didn't take Granny and me long to see a bigger picture, Emma," smiled Red. "Once we realized you'd be hunted down—"

"Like a _wolf_," Granny emphasized, clutching her old cross bow across her chest like a trophy. "We woke up, and immediately headed for the forest to help."

Red let out a little chuckle as she too pulled tightly at her scarlet cloak, throwing the hood over her head to counter the snowfall. "Staring down angry mobs is a specialty of Gran's," she said, then added as she glanced proudly at her grandmother, "Rescuing innocents from themselves. That's what makes Granny happy." Granny stared straight ahead, a militant glean in her eye as she stayed the course, determined not to choke up at Red's high praise. Emma looked nervously between the two and Red wriggled up her nose with a smirk. "Refusing to accept compliments," she said wryly, "_also _makes Granny happy."

"All right, quiet you," Granny snapped, though there was a healthy rosiness to her cheeks as they trudged further on toward the toll bridge.

Michael and Matt were trailing behind on account of the sprint through the forest having worsened Michael's bad leg. They were keeping a pretty close pace though and every so often, Emma glanced back and caught Clancy's eye. His return look was always the same – a little confusion, and a lot of kindness. He had instinctively glommed on to at least a fraction of understanding that there were strange forces at work here, forces that would only be explained if he stuck with this strange group of misfits and saw it through. Again, Emma peaked behind her and he shot her a half grin as he helped Michael over a downed tree. She started and whipped her head back around.

Red didn't miss a beat. "See somethin' you like, Emma?" she teased, nudging her in the ribs.

But Emma wasn't about to let this already mind-boggling day descend into insipid 'girl talk.' "Just wondering about our friends back there." She turned to Granny, "You said his name was Kurtis?"

"Mmm," Granny nodded. "Kurtis Van Houten. He and his kids used to come by every fall and tend to our hedges. Good family. We were devastated when we'd heard what happened." She too glanced back at 'Michael Tillman' and sighed. "Sure hope there's a chance a findin' his little ones."

"There is," Emma said quietly, feeling somewhat renewed by the strength in numbers, though not at all confident about…well, anything. "At least I think so. Yesterday, Graham said—" Emma stopped dead in her tracks as they cleared a particularly dense section of forest and came upon the toll bridge. Standing in its shadow were a half dozen people in various stages and degrees of bewilderment and/or conversation. There was Leroy, Archie, and Dr. Stone from Storybrooke General, along with a man she didn't recognize, Trent Davis, and what looked to be the owner of the drugstore where she first met the Zimmers. But Emma hardly took notice of them. In fact, she barely registered Shane—or Aladdin standing with his arm slung around a woman she assumed was Jade. Her eyes locked instead with Snow's, eyes that immediately welled up with tears upon seeing her mother. The young deputy, of course, had little frame of reference for that inexplicable feeling of simply needing to see one's mom. She'd relied on herself for so long, she hardly recognized the sensation for what it was. But conscious of it or not, Emma sprinted across the hundred or so foot gap between them and flung her arms around her mother's neck.

Snow staggered back as Emma embraced her, but she recovered quickly and clasped her close. "Oh sweet girl," she whispered, unable to help herself though she suspected this time Emma wouldn't mind the endearment or the show of affection. In fact, she sensed everyone around her graciously allowing them this brief reunion, recognizing that while it had been barely a day since they'd split up at the apartment, her daughter seemed to have endured a lifetime of pain. "I'm so glad you're safe," she said and squeezed tight.

"You too…Mom," she said and Snow heard the tiniest sniffle. Emma buried her head in her mother's shoulder, her soul flooding with relief. "You too."

…

*****Okay…well. I suppose it goes without saying that this one took ummm…a while. But I can't entirely blame the two musicals, final exams, grading and graduation stuff that monopolized all of April and half of May. I also came down with the WORST case of writer's block I've had since starting this story, so I apologize for the delay and thank EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU for waiting so patiently. Thank you for all the recent follows and reviews and for sticking with poor Emma through her growing pains here at "Toll Bridge!"**

**Now that summer's here and I'm back on track, I should be able to do a better job with the updates. Plenty more in store as we lead into the final battle. We've got some happy endings to mend and some hearts to save…and some rambunctious little kids just itching to 'get outta Dodge.' Hope you are still enjoying and hope your summers are all off to a fabulous start.**

**-Nikstlitslepmur*****

**PS – There have been many readers who have either reviewed or messaged me about whether or not I'll be bringing in Neil, and I'm sure those same people are even more curious now as to what Emma's future vision means. I'm afraid I can't answer outright as it would ruin the fun, but I can only reiterate that I pledged to continue the story that I originally laid out in my head regardless of where the canon of the show went, and that I would fit canon in where it worked and ignore what didn't. That being said, you should know that a particular bit of canon concerning Henry and Emma and Rumpelstiltskin is actually quite close to what I had planned anyway and if you were paying close attention to Emma's vision when she touched 'Stiltskin a few chapters back, you have probably already guessed it. So though I make no promises, I have not forgotten about your questions and they will be answered. Hopefully, you will enjoy the ride! **

**Happy Summer!**


	40. Something Precious

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**Something Precious**

"We have six cells and only three of them filled," Regina spat, pacing in front of her golden chest, feeling anxious as the minutes ticked by.

Circe slid the heavy metal door shut behind her from having just deposited Aurora in the cell block. "That's already half, Regina," she said sweetly. "Surely the others are close behind."

Regina ignored her. "John should have been back with the street rat by now and where the _hell_ is Rodmilla?"

"Perhaps the baby was too much for her to handle," Circe snorted. "It _has_ been a while."

Regina paused mid-stride and glanced sideways at the sultry enchantress. "Shut up."

Circe bowed, turning away from the frantic queen with an understated eye roll. "Suit yourself, Regina. If you derive some sort of satisfaction from pacing back and forth in your secret chamber here, I shall not endeavor to calm your worries. I needn't remind you of course, that we only need _one _of guardians from each realm to comply with our demands. I for one predict that," she paused and laid her hand proudly over her breast, "the _beast _will play his part admirably. But I can see how much you must gain from the rather dizzying laps you feel compelled to take around your chamber."

Regina, who merely tolerated those whose help the limits of magic forced her to enlist, had had just about enough of the arrogant sorceress and was about to tell her as much when –

"They've killed mummy!" came a nail-biting screech as Rodmilla's two daughters came bounding past the Council room and into Regina's chamber. "Killed her, Regina! That lousy prince!—"

"Excuse me," said Circe who seemed not the least bit effected by the young women's hysteria nor the news they brought (Rodmilla never was a terribly magical sort. She'd stolen a few wands in her day and tried to make do, but she was a pitiful addition to the Council from the get go and, for a former goddess, not a great loss). Without another word, Circe slunk out of the room.

"Calm down ladies," Regina attempted to adopt a façade of calm, grasping Marguerite Tremaine by the shoulders. But underneath she was shaking with fury. She'd woken up two of the stupidest girls in Seven Gales only at Rodmilla's request who had insisted her daughters be allowed to experience the "fun" of entrapping Ella's baby and destroying their stepsister's happiness. "What happened?"

"You lied!" screamed Marguerite who cradled her slashed arm against her side as Drizella flew past her in a fury, her once neatly coiffed hair now flung about her head in wild strands.

"Thomas is _not _paralyzed, Regina. He stopped us from taking the baby and drove a fire poker through Mummy's stomach!"

Regina's eyes went wide. Prince Thomas was mobile? And what's more – they now had no collateral from Seven Gales?! "How…when did you—what exactly—"

"An unfortunate setback, ladies," came a deeper, huskier voice as a much larger woman paraded in behind them with her captive in tow, pushing the blubbering sisters aside. "But hardly a crippling blow. Besides, we've nothing to fear with Ursula on the job," she added haughtily, and Regina watched with renewed glee as the sea witched shoved forward the young man she'd dragged in behind her. His hair was wild and unkempt, black and wavy, and he was dressed in one of those denim workman jumpers and black rubber boots with a wool cap and parka thrown over him. "As you can see," Ursula cackled as she ripped off the man's cap to reveal a very confused, very frightened royal. "I've _always _had my realm under control."

…

"Let me out of here! Please, somebody help me!" screamed the frightened blonde as the door to the cell block slid shut and what little light there was in the dank prison dimmed.

"Dawn, it's all right—"

"HELP!" she shouted again, gripping the bars, ignoring the stares of similar captives standing in the cells facing her. "Please! Who are you? Why are you doing this?!"

"Dawn!" James tried again, crouching down in his cell and reaching his arm toward her through the bars. It had been some time since he'd seen Princess Aurora, but he vaguely remembered a few days he'd spent as 'David Nolan', being tended to by the young nurse. Gods, in this light she looked so frightened…so helpless. Not unlike, he imagined, she had looked when old Maleficent had swooped down in dragon form upon her wedding to Philip and whisked her away to a remote tower of Rosebriar Castle. The story was legendary throughout all three realms – even in the midst of their waging war against Regina and George, news of Philip's triumphant victory over the evil sorceress had reached New Gaia. "Calm down, Dawn, you're with friends," he pleaded with her as her hysterical cries turned to mournful sobs. Finally, the nurse seemed to realize she was not alone in this strange, almost medieval looking cell, and glanced up at the man and woman staring down at her. "R-rose?" she said to the brunette who nodded. "And…David Nolan?" she gasped, having not seen the town's famous amnesiac since his release from the hospital. "Wh-what is going on? Where _are _we? And who was that—"

"We're somewhere underground, Dawn," Belle explained patiently. "Underneath Storybrooke."

"And that woman was…someone very – " James glanced at his friend and then sighed. "Someone very bad."

"You think?!" Dawn scoffed, pushing herself up from the cold, dirt floor and brushing off her pale-blue hospital scrubs. Frustrated, she tore off the few strands of Christmassy beads and flair she still had hanging around her neck and tossed them in a corner. "She tore through the ER, upending desks, cots, shattering crash carts and shelves and— I've never _seen _a more volatile display in my life! God, this lady must have taken a whole _pharmacy's _worth of drugs and—"

"It wasn't drugs, Dawn," James said quietly.

Dawn blinked, thrown off by the interruption of her rant. "What?"

"It wasn't drugs," James said, leveling his gaze. "It was magic."

Belle looked up warily from the corner of her eye, but James shook her off. They were far past the point of gradually easing anyone into the notion of the curse. Aurora's capture confirmed what he and Belle suspected: they were being held as collateral – likely intended to be used in some horrific way against their loved ones, and James was not going to let that happen without putting up a fight. Therefore, they had to work together, so he needed Dawn to believe…and fast.

Dawn's jaw dropped. "What?" she took a step back from the bars. "What are you—"

"Magic, Dawn." Belle nodded, "He's right. And if we're to have a chance of getting out of here, you need to trust us and we need—"

"Wh-what do you mean…magic?"

"Look around you," James gestured to their cell block, careful to remain patient with her. "Does this look like an ordinary jail?"

Dawn indeed glanced at her surroundings, slightly sickened by the dank smell and the ragged, yellowish, carved-out-of-a-rock look of the place. "Nnnnno, but—"

"That's because it isn't. In fact, nothing in this town is ordinary."

"Think, Dawn," Belle offered, crouching back down as Dawn continued to retreat further in her cell. "That woman who took you – she must have done some pretty…frightening things. Things that you've probably convinced yourself you imagined?" It was a guess, certainly, but not a risky one. Belle had a pretty good idea of what Circe could have done to a place like that, especially to the place from which Adam had escaped.

Dawn shook her head, trying to deny the images now creeping back to her brain. "No…no, she was just…just so s-strong—"

"What'd you see Dawn?" James asked. "It's ok to tell us – whatever it is, I _promise _we'll believe you."

She opened and closed her mouth several times, now completely convinced she was dreaming. But eventually Dawn replied. "S-she…she didn't _do _anything. She j-just…she waved her hand and…and—"

"And what?" James urged while Belle reached through her bars to steady him.

"And things just…flew across the room."

"Like she was moving things with her mind," James confirmed, and it wasn't a question.

Dawn nodded. "And then the—the computer it…it…"

"It what, Dawn?" Belle coaxed.

"It just…e-exploded," Dawn's eyes went wide as she finished, looking between Rose and David, still expecting looks of astonishment or at least doubt. But they seemed perfectly accepting of this impossible scene she'd just recounted. "But that's…that's crazy…right?"

"No," said James, giving her a comforting smile. "It's not crazy. Not at all. Dawn, did you see anything else? Did she _say _anything else?"

Dawn shook her head. "No, nothing she—" then she froze, looked down to one side and shook her head. "Maeve," she whispered quietly, her brow furrowing.

Belle rose from her crouch. "Maeve?"

"Who's Maeve?" James muttered.

"The head nurse. Turned me down for a job a few days ago when I was still…you know… 'Rose'."

James looked back to Aurora. "What about her, Dawn? What'd she do?"

But Dawn was still shaking her head and reaching ever so slowly into the pocket of her nurse jacket. The memories were clearing now, the cloud over her mind parting as more of the day's confusing events tumbled into place her head. "She…she grabbed my arm, yanked me away from the admin desk."

"Did she hurt you?" asked James.

Dawn shook her head. "No she…" she closed her eyes, struggling to remember what the old biddy had muttered to her as the strange, dark woman encroached upon them. _They're gonna take you, _she could practically smell the head nurse's peppermint laced breath whispering in her ear. _They're gonna take you now, but you'll be with friends. Trust them._ "She said…she said to…trust," she glanced up at Rose and David, both former patients waiting on pins and needles, "to trust …you."

James's grip slid down a bit as the sweat gathered on his palms. "Trust _us_? She knew about us?"

"What else, Dawn?" Belle added.

As Rose spoke, Dawn's hand finally closed around what some unknown force seemed to be guiding her to retrieve from her pocket; the nurse withdrew an odd, egg-shaped stone, speckled with green and silver flecks. "She…she gave me this. Dropped it in my…pocket." The memory was hazy, though encouraged by her fellow prisoners to embrace what had seemed imagined, the rest of it finished taking shape. "She said I would eventually figure out how to use it and—"

"_You know what's crazy?"_

Dawn leapt, clutching the egg tightly to her breast as her head darted around her cell. "Wha—what was that?"

James and Belle exchanged worried glances. "What was what?" James asked.

Dawn's gazed juddered upward, dashing around the cell like she was ducking her head from a swarm of angry birds. "Tha-that noise. That—"

_"Hearing all that in there, seeing Clancy's face in that picture—"_

"What's…what's going on?! Who are you?" Dawn cried, reaching a hand up to claw at her disheveled hair. She looked to David and Rose who were now staring at her surprise. "You don't hear that?"

_"—actually makes all of this _more _believable." _ The voice in her head continued and it was then that she realized it was familiar. She _knew _that voice. She would know that voice anywhere. She knew it this morning when he stood behind her, consulting on charts, making her heart flutter with anticipation as he came _so _close to finally asking her out.

"Trent?" she whispered, then glanced down at the egg-shaped device clutched in her hand. Then she jumped, for the tiny green specks on the egg weren't tiny anymore. In fact, they were glowing. "Trent!" she hissed and clutched it even closer. Somehow she knew – she was certain. Whatever it was that Maeve had given her, this strange looking trinket that weighed no more than a paperweight, was connecting her to Trent.

"Dawn?" James reached toward her cell. "What is that?"

"It's," she gulped, holding tightly to the egg as if she wouldn't dare let go, "it's—"

At that moment, the cell block door wrenched open again and light spilled into the dank corridor. All three backed away from the bars and slunk into the shadows of the cell, holding their breaths for the next shocking turn to come. And sure enough, down the stairs, struggling just as Aurora had been a few moments ago, came a new prisoner, entangled in what seemed to be a large fishing net, and led by a familiar-looking buxom woman, cackling in a deep, husky voice.

"Hello my pretties," she said as she ushered the awkward, stumbling young man in her clutches to the cell beside Aurora's. With a solid yank, she tore open the jail bars with her chunky arms, flung the lad inside, and clanged the door shut. It was a moment after the young man worked himself out of the netting before James recognized him. He gasped but was careful not to say anything in this new villain's presence. The woman turned, surveyed the six cells, all occupied save for two, and nodded to Aurora. "Four out of six ain't bad eh Sugarlips?"

"Who are you?" James grunted, returning to the front of his cell and clutching at the bars. "Another of Regina's brainless minions?"

"Minions?" the woman whirled on him, her eyes lit ablaze, but when her eyes fell on the prince, the tiny flare of anger evaporated so quickly, James was sure he imagined it, for the large-breasted woman before him was laughing. "Oh dear dear dear," she tsked, drawing one red-polished finger down her cheek and resting under her chin as she gave James a once-over. "I forgot how rude you New Gaians can be."

"Why are you doing this?" cried Belle as she stood beside James in her own cell. "Don't you know that Regina is using you?"

The woman sauntered with an exaggerated sway of her hips as she curled her hand underneath Belle's on the iron bar. "Well of course she is, daaaaahling. You think Regina is powerful enough to create _this,_" she gestured upward as if the hideously archaic cells were some great bohemian work of art, "by herself?"

"So I was right," James seethed, gripping tightly to the cell door. "You're sharing magic. Pooling it together."

"Right you are, Angelfish," she said flippantly, sauntering away.

"And us?" he challenged. "How do we play into your little game?"

"You—" the woman started, pointing a bony finger in his direction, but then seemed to think the better of it. "Well," she relaxed, "you'll just have to wait and see." She paused, gave the whole scene a satisfied nod then finally rested her gaze on the dark-haired man she'd newly entrapped. "Ta ta, princey," she sang toward the cell, but the young man seemed not to hear her. "He is quite a _catch _in't he?" she chuckled to James, snatched her hand away from Belle's cell and headed back up the corridor. The metal door at the top of the stairs slid shut moments later with a heavy clunk.

"Do you know who that was?" Belle asked as they watched her go.

"I've got a pretty good idea," he muttered. He knew of only one evil witch who handled herself with that much flippant arrogance and used terms like 'Angelfish' and 'Sugarlips', and given the man she'd just captured, the woman was almost certainly a humanized version of Ursula. James had never met her of course, but Ariel had told him plenty of stories when they were kids.

James turned toward the newly occupied cell and crouched down. He was about to call to him when Aurora too scooted over. The young man's cell was adjacent to hers and the nurse knelt down quietly down before him.

"Ch-charlie?" she whispered, reaching for the man whose shoulders were hunched and disheveled hair hung down over his eyes. Dawn frowned and withdrew her hand.

"You know him?" James blinked, having already identified who the boy _had been_.

Dawn looked up. "It's…it's Charlie Fisher. He works down at the docks, the east side marina. Comes in the hospital every so often to—" she tensed, still clutching the egg-shaped ornament she had in her hand.

James had a feeling that whatever she was hearing through the strange device had resumed. "Dawn, focus," he pled. "Comes in every so often to what?"

Dawn sighed. "To work with the deaf kids."

James gasped in horror as his gaze sank to the frightened young man. "You mean he—"

"Can't hear," Dawn shook her head and looked back at the adjacent cell. "Why would they do this to someone like Charlie?" she muttered.

Belle reached through her bars and tapped James's shoulder. "What is it?" she hissed, reading the mortification in the prince's face as clearly as if he were one of her books.

James's eyes fell closed as he rested his head against the bars. "He can't _hear_," he moaned, wiping his palm tiredly over his forehead. "My Gods—"

"Why, who is he?" Belle urged, giving his elbow a gentle tug.

"That's Ariel's husband. Prince of Lochmere."

Belle gasped. "Prince _Eric_?"

James nodded. "Prince Eric," he said. _And he's deaf…perfect._

…

The tearful reunions continued as the assemblage of allies returned to the cottage following their meeting at the toll bridge. Each of course was brimming with stories, desperate to be among the first to share new information, new updates, new threats. But activity ceased as Snow and Emma led the way into the cottage, Snow expecting to see Sleepy and Dopey alone and waiting and instead finding several more awakened souls gathered in her old home. Doc had returned with Belle's father who was propped up against a pillow in the bed at the far corner of the room – looking a little bewildered, but safe. Sleepy and Dopey were indeed awaiting their arrival impatiently, but not because they were sore about having gotten stuck with guard duty. Sleepy's face split into a wide grin as the rest of the gang filed in behind her. "Snow!" he cried, "look who showed up!"

But Snow was already looking, smiling and tearing up in relief as she laid eyes on Thomas, wheeling his chair up to the round table with his father behind him. To their right stood Marco who went instantly to Archie's side upon his entrance, and directly in front of Snow, on her old rocking chair, sat Ella with little Alexandra snuggled safely in her arms.

The cottage was now, in a word, packed. And it was quite the ordeal of furniture shifting and people shuffling to allow everyone at least some semblance of comfort. Still, no one seemed inclined to complain, when the alternative was being hunted down on the surface by the minions Regina had alleged she would awaken. At the table sat Snow, Emma, Marco, Archie, Grumpy, Thomas, Christopher and Granny. Red took her usual place behind her grandmother, leaning back against the archway that separated Snow's old sleeping area from the sitting room. In the corner, Doc remained with Maurice, while Ella slid the rocker to the foot of the bed, very near to the place where her husband sat at the table. The remaining dwarfs lined up their old dining benches along the wall of the sitting room, while Trent and Matt tried their best to stay out of the way on the periphery, leaning up against the old sink in the kitchen. Aladdin, who of course recognized his friends from their fortuitous meeting on the way back to Agrabah, hovered close by, though he wisely didn't attempt any overt familiarity as Philip and Lucas had clearly not emerged yet. That left Jasmine and Michael Tillman, the latter of which still nursed a bad leg. He settled himself on the opposite side of the one bed, closest to the wall and propped his leg up on a stool. Jasmine, meanwhile, as was her habit, paced in front of the door, peeking every so often into the dark corridor to ensure they had no unwanted guests.

The sheer volume of information being shared was staggering: Rumpelstiltskin's explanation the curse and its weakness, the guardians of magic, Grumpy's report that Adam was now MIA – likely beating Gaston to a bloody pulp – the fate of poor Abigail. The hardest news of all, of course, was the death of Sheriff Graham. Snow gasped, Red cried, Granny, Archie and Marco all hung their heads in dismay. While everyone else took a moment to deal with the grief and shock of it all, Emma glanced up at Matt who was muttering something under his breath to Trent. He startled her though, for while his head was tilted toward his partner's for better hearing, his eyes were on her, and while Emma related the painful story of Graham's demise, she could feel his wordless support across the room. She shook her head and decided to look away, for if she got lost in those eyes again, she'd find herself longing for that eerie fate foretold in her vision – and she had to make damn well sure that that _didn't _happen.

In fact, Emma realized and scolded herself, what the hell was wrong with her anyway? Graham died with his love for her on his lips and here she was feeling herself falling for a man she barely knew, not even a day later. The very thought shamed her, confused her – this…this just wasn't _like _her, and she was desperate for it all to end. Maybe when she found Henry, they could get away from this place – take Snow and James and relocate her family down to Charleston or Pensicola – somewhere warm, somewhere free –

"Emma?" Snow gave her a gentle nudge beneath the table, startling her back to earth.

"Hmm, what?" she muttered as conversation had ceased and she became aware of how many people were staring at her expectantly, as if they were waiting for some sort of response. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Snow gave her a sympathetic smile. "It's ok, Emma. We all know how much you…cared for Graham."

Emma started, looked right at Matt again on instinct – who dropped his own gaze – and then turned to her mother. "That's…not…that doesn't matter right now," she spluttered, not at all sure where the conversation had gone, but she was definitely sure she wanted to move on. "What matters now is finding Henry," she glanced over at Michael, "and Ava and Nicholas. _And _we have to figure out how to keep Regina from crushing any more hearts before tomorrow night, so we can't spend any more time talking about…what we've lost." She felt her voice peter out as she finished her rather lame speech, but as she glanced around the table, she saw nothing but support and agreement. Grumpy, she noticed, even gave her a smirk and a wink as if to say _'Chip off the old block, kid.'_ "I for one," she said, a bit more reserved, "am open to suggestions."

No one spoke for a moment, not for lack of having something to say, but because no one seemed willing to get the ball rolling. "Well," Granny said at last, clearing her throat, "I think whatever we do needs to start with breaking the curse – like Rumplestiltskin said."

Grumpy shook his head. "No, where we start is getting the queen away from those hearts—"

"Which we can't do unless the curse is broken," the old woman countered.

"How do you figure that?" asked the dwarf.

"Because getting the queen away from her hearts is going to require magic – lots of it," Red chimed in, "and we won't have nearly enough with the majority of the town still cursed."

"And we're going to somehow find two more guardians and restore their happy endings in less than 24 hours?"

"Well, actually we know who—" Emma tried to cut in. But before she could finish, the group became aware of another conversation brewing behind them, a quarrel between the two paramedics getting louder and louder, and they all turned to look just as Matt grabbed Trent's sleeve and pulled him back.

"Just wait—" Matt hissed, but Trent was too quick.

"No, I've had enough," he shrugged out of his partner's grasp. "This stuff is just too crazy!" As he said it, he turned more fully toward the round table, realizing everyone else had stopped talking. An awkward silence followed before Trent held his hands up in a sort of half-apologetic shrug. "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but I came here for one reason: to find out what happened to Dawn."

"Davis, just listen," Matt tried again, "There's a lot—"

"No!" Trent whirled on his friend, then turned right back to the group. "No, I'm done _listening_. No more stories about curses and spells and a-a-and Rumple…Rumple-freakin'-_stiltskin_! Dawn is out there, ok? She was kidnapped by some sort of drugged up psycho and I'm not about—"

"What did you say?" Emma asked suddenly, springing up from her chair.

"Emma?" said Snow.

"What?" asked Trent.

"Just now…_who's_ out there? Did you say Dawn? As in Dawn Charles? Nurse Charles?"

Trent did a double-take between her and Matt and then replied. "Yeah?"

But Emma's brain was already overloading. That was it! Dawn. _That _was the woman in her first vision of Matt that morning: the blond princess so obviously playing the role of Sleeping Beauty in Clancy's blocked memory. No wonder Matt had said something about her being "Trent's girl" in her future vision. _Finally, _she thought with reddening cheeks. Something _useful _to come from these premonitions. "I _knew _she looked familiar," she muttered.

"Who?" Snow too rose from the table as her daughter turned to face her.

"Mom, please tell me you brought the book down here."

Snow nodded and gestured toward Christopher who was closest to where it lay on a nearby tea tray. The rest of those gathered watched patiently as Emma opened the book to the story she'd glanced through the night beforeand revealed a stunning oil-painting of Nurse Charles in a lovely blue sleeping gown. "There," she straightened up, pointing down at the page as others moved around her to see.

"Of course!" Snow slapped her palm against her forehead. "Gods, I must have seen her every day in the hospital and never realized."

"What are you—" Trent pushed his way up to the edge of the table and then gasped as he beheld the nurse's eerie likeness in the storybook illustration. "What…" he gulped, his voice far quieter, "what _is_ that?"

Emma sighed, looking to her mother again who gave her a supportive nod. "It's what we've all been talking about, Trent. The curse – the curse that made you all forget who you are." Tentatively, she placed a hand on his back and maneuvered him more directly in front of Henry's book. "Your friend Dawn is…well she's—" she gulped and glanced up, still feeling ridiculous though less so than she had a week ago. "She's Sleeping Beauty."

Trent slowly turned his head, looking incredulous at the young deputy until he realized, as he scanned the rest of the room, not a single expression, not even Matt's, bore the same level of scrutiny. "That-that's…that's just…nuts."

"Look for yourself," Emma gestured down, indicating more pages to be turned, more illustrations of proof. "And if she's really been kidnapped," she went on to the rest of their little council, "that has to be related to the other people who were taken. James and Belle and—"

"Philip," came Trent's voice, suddenly cold and detached as he'd turned the page and found another picture.

Emma's gaze whipped back to Trent. "What? No, Philip is—"

"Is _you_," Trent ignored Emma, turning slowly and pointing directly at Matt Clancy.

Matt blinked. "What?"

"It's you," he rasped even quieter as he gestured back to the book and several of the group cleared the way for Matt to step up to the table. As the portrait came into view, the fireman felt a huge lump forming in his throat, as if he were running out to treat a victim of a particularly horrific accident. The illustration was another beautifully painted, rather intricate rendition of the famous scene in the well-known fairy tale. The image of Dawn Charles lay sleeping in a dimly lit chamber with her prince leaning over…a prince whose visage might as well have been a mirror for the desperately confused Matt Clancy.

"That's…" he gulped again, "that's not…me—" his voice was shaking.

"Dawn is Sleeping Beauty and _you_—" Trent looked sharply at his partner— "_you're_ her…prince charming. Why doesn't that surprise me?" And with that, Trent turned away from the table, heading past the group of dwarfs at the back entrance, and slunk into the caverns, Happy trailing after him.

"Trent, wait—" Matt called to him as the rest of the group watched him go, some thoroughly confused, others painfully in the know.

Snow felt especially sad for him as she watched the poor duke retreat towards the underground waterfall. _Why indeed, _she thought. Why _didn't _that surprise him? For a man who had been so unwilling to hear more tales of magic and witchcraft, Trent Davis acquiesced quite easily to this particular development –perfectly able to believe Dawn belonged with Matt…rather than himself. The sight was enough to trigger in Snow's mind something Adam had said several hours ago about the book: _I fear what it leaves out_, he'd said…_No one ever knows the whole story._

Matt, meanwhile, stood dumbly in the middle of a circle of stares – more than a dozen people too afraid they might say the wrong thing. He looked down again at the book, thought for a moment then stubbornly shook his head. "It's not me."

"Matt—" Snow tried.

"No," he started rapidly tapping his finger on the page. "No this is wrong. Dawn is Trent's girl. He's been crazy about her for…for _years _and—"

"Matt, try to understand," said Aladdin, reaching toward his old friend.

"I _do _understand," Matt whirled on him, then cast frantic looks around the room. "I'm ok with all of this, you know? I have no idea why, but I get it – curses, magic, witches, evil queens, ghosts, goblins – whatever. I'm cool with it. I'm in. But _this—_" he spun back to the page, paused and then glared at Emma. "This is _not _me. I'm…I'm not in love…with Dawn."

Emma's heart leapt up in her throat. This speech was frighteningly familiar to her of course – Clancy's vehement denial of his identity, his destiny. "That's," she started slowly, lowering her gaze for she simply could not look at him. "That's what the curse does, Matt," she said quietly. "It makes you think you belong elsewhere. With someone else."

"It made me divorce my husband," came Jasmine's sweet voice, stepping forward and clasping Aladdin's hand.

"And gave _my _husband a different wife altogether," Snow attempted with a light chuckle.

But Matt was still shaking his head. "And that's all very well and good, but this—" he thrust his finger once more into the picture, as if he might rip it from the binding and crumple it up at any moment. "This is a lie. I'm," he glanced back at Emma, "I'm no prince."

No one said anything for a moment, again feeling awkward and – at least for a frustrated Grumpy and Granny – _way _off topic. Then finally, it was Christopher who spoke up.

"King," he said softly.

All turned to look at him.

"Excuse me?" Matt blustered.

"You're a _king_, Philip," he replied. "Not a prince."

"The name's _Matt_," spat Clancy, throwing his arms across his chest.

"No, son. It's not. And whether or not you loved this woman," he gestured down at the drawing, "changes nothing. You're a guardian of magic. The only one of your generation who would have known since you're the only one who has been crowned. So regardless of whether you approve of your fate, you must accept it…and fast."

"Pop," Thomas reached up from his chair for his father's arm, but Christopher shook his head.

"Emma was right to imply that these abductions are connected. They are indeed." He glanced back up at the group, his gaze settling on Snow. "And we must act quickly. If what these young men are saying is true, if Princess Aurora has been captured along with James," he glanced over at Doc, "and Belle," then he looked from the legendary street rat to his daughter-in-law, "and we know they already triedto take you _and_ Alexandra, I believe I know what the queen is really after."

"What?" Snow, Emma, Red and Granny all asked together.

Christopher sighed, his voice grave as he answered, "Something precious."

Snow started. Why did that sound familiar? "Something…precious?"

"You mentioned that before, back at the house, Pop," said Thomas. "What does that mean?"

The older king took a deep breath, folding one palm inside the other as he glanced down at his granddaughter. "It's the…price all guardians are asked to pay. A test of courage sooner or later that magic inevitably requires." Perhaps moved by the man's rather sage tone, or maybe just wildly curious, the rest of the group – even Matt – sat and listened, wide-eyed as children. Realization amongst those awake collectively dawned that, as Thomas's father and predecessor, here was a man who knew all too well the grave responsibility bestowed on the guardian for Seven Gales. "When a royal is anointed guardian, he or she accepts the responsibility for maintaining the sanctity and the _purity _of magic," he explained. "That purity, the balance between good and evil must be maintained at all costs, even…" his breath hitched in his throat as he again looked to his son, "even when death hovers at your door, threatening to take from you that which is…most precious."

Thomas's face turned white. "Mother," he rasped. And no sooner had Thomas figured it out than both Jasmine and Snow gasped.

"Yes," said Christopher. "Your mother. You see, death is when temptation to tamper with fate is at its strongest. But magic, we are told by those entrusting its care in our hands, is for –"

But it was Snow who finished, for the words in Aurora's story were now crystal clear, words she could suddenly recall with perfect clarity having been uttered by her own mother: "Magic is for healing nations and maintaining peace…" she murmured quietly, "not cheating death."

Christopher closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Exactly. It's why you will never find a record of any of our bloodlines having sought the protection of a fairy or the power of a golden flower. It's why our deaths are natural, and must run their course. It's why our kingdoms were chosen in the first place. King George, Queen Primrose, even King Midas all descended from families who routinely used magic to alter their fates. And the moment we try to use magic to cheat what fate has planned, the balance between good and evil shifts and our realms are placed at greater risk." Christopher paused, allowing the lesson to sink in to those around him, to even Marco who was a good deal older than Christopher but lacked yet the knowledge of Geppetto. After a time, he continued.

"Had Regina waited any longer, she would have been too late. As it was, you were all only months," he nodded at Snow, then at Jasmine, "some only days before your coronation when the curse was enacted. Her timing on that score could not have been a coincidence. Five out of six kingdoms were crippled by delays in each heir's succession to the throne: Civil war in New Gaia, Jasmine's challenge for her right to rule, Thomas," he glanced at his son, "trapped in Limbo. Never had the very fabric of magic been so vulnerable." He sighed and looked sadly from Snow to Jasmine. "With Leopold slain, Rushdi's declining health and King Triton's crippling prejudice against humanity, I was practically the only guardian left whose watch had not been weakened. And in my grief…I wasn't enough. Now, Regina seeks to pervert that prophecy. To work the warnings of Helios to her advantage. To force you to choose between magic…and something precious."

"Impossible," Granny spat, standing up in almost righteous indignation, though she wasn't quite clear who she was mad at. "How could Regina even _know _about guardians and Helios and-and—" she looked to Emma. "You told us Rumplestiltskin said the secret isn't even shared between father and son. Only by Helios on the eve of—"

"My father," Snow croaked, sinking to her chair and silencing Lynette. "My father would have told her."

Emma sank next to her mother and squeezed her arm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Snow in barely a whisper. "My father never could see the darkness in Regina's heart. After my mother died, he…he would have entrusted her with the secret…as his new wife and queen."

"It's…it's not his fault," Emma offered lamely, though she realized it was a ridiculous thing to say. Her mother squeezed her hand though in gratitude as Archie cleared his throat.

"Christopher, this…test of something precious. Is it possible that Regina's gross interpretation of the prophecy simply won't work here? The deaths of your wife and Snow's father, as you say, were natural. Is the guardianship still at risk if their loved ones are _un_naturally threatened?"

Christopher sighed as he sat back down beside his son. "I'm not sure. It's possible, but I don't know that we can afford to risk it. She can still compel you to willingly relinquish your guardianship to save your loved ones."

"But you said yourself that no one but Philip has been crowned. Shouldn't Regina be going after those left of _your_ generation?" asked Aladdin, stepping closer to the table.

"Again, it's possible, but based on those we're assuming she's abducted, Regina is clearly making certain assumptions about the state of each kingdom. In fact it's very likely that the blackness in her heart prevents her from truly understanding the complexities of guardianship. It would account for her going after Aladdin instead of the more vulnerable Sultan Rushdi." Jasmine visibly clenched as Christopher continued. "Regina doesn't have to fully understand the magic in order to manipulate it…and all of _you_ to her advantage."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as they tried to absorb the magnitude of what they faced. And the silence was deafening. So much so that Matt Clancy couldn't stomach it, and abruptly, he rose from one of the dwarf's stools, stalked over to the kitchen where he'd tossed his coat, grabbed it and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Emma called after him.

"Out," he muttered, moving for the front door which Aladdin and Jasmine immediately blocked. "You mind?"

"You can't leave, Philip," Aladdin attempted the most understanding tone he could for his friend, but the jaded paramedic's eyes would not recognize him.

"I'm _not _Philip!" Matt blustered, elbowing the street thug out of the way.

"Matt, you have to stay here," Emma rose from the table. "We need you to help break—"

"Look," he spun around, hands splayed in front of him. "You all obviously have some serious…" he hesitated, scrambling for words… "_serious_ shit to deal with, but Trent is right. Sitting around and talking about it isn't gonna help Dawn." Aladdin reached for him again, but Matt's jacket sleeve slipped out of his grasp as Matt headed out and up the dark, stone stairwell to the surface.

Aladdin sighed, squeezing Jasmine's hand as he turned toward the rest of the group. "I'll go after him—"

"No," Emma shook her head. She looked down at her mother. "I'll go, I—" she looked down and sighed, "I think he…I think he might listen to me."

…

Trent could still hear the faint mumblings of the inordinately crowded cottage as he slipped passed the dwarfs gathered at the exit and entered the caverns. Searching for a place to drown out all the ridiculous talk of kings and queens and princes and curses, he perched himself up on the stone basin where the rush of the underground waterfall was at its loudest. _Maybe this is all a dream_, he thought lamely, wishing he could rewind the clock and go back to that moment at the desk – the last chance he'd had with Dawn before Clancy came in an all hell broke loose. But he wasn't left to his thoughts for long because Joel, the one _they _were all calling 'Happy', had come out to the basin to join him.

"Look, I'm not gonna take off all right?" Trent muttered, folding his arms over his chest. "I just…needed some air."

Happy offered a sympathetic smile as he hopped up on the basin wall next to his new friend. "If it helps, I understand how you feel," he said cheerfully.

Trent glanced sideways, then rolled his eyes. "Yeah…sure."

"I do!" said Happy. "It's not easy for any of us you know, but I think sometimes," he paused, glanced back at the cottage, then lowered his voice, "sometimes these kinds of things are a lot easier for royals to swallow than those of us 'average' folks."

Trent threw him a questioning gaze. "Royals?" he asked, still unsure what the curious term really meant since there were apparently no less than eight so-called 'royals' inside at the moment.

"You know," Happy chuckled, "princes and princesses? Kings and queens? They forget sometimes that, well…happy endings don't grow on trees."

_Happy endings_, Trent scoffed. There was that term again. "Whadyou mean?" he asked, only half interested in the answer.

"You know, fighting dragons, damsels in distress, festivals, balls, true-love's-kiss and wedding the prince or princess?" Happy nudged Trent's arm with his own on the last one, "That's all stuff that just…comes with the job, wouldn't ya say?"

Trent shrugged. "I uh…I _couldn't _say, actually," he mumbled, though he couldn't help but think back on that storybook illustration and cringe.

"Well take it from me then, Trent. It's hard to be one of the, well, regular guys. Folks that don't necessarily _have _happy ever after's. Folks that need to find their own ways to be happy."

"Yeah?" Trent challenged, "I notice _you _seem to have…I dunno, found _your _ever after."

"Yes, but I'm a dwarf," he said matter-of-factly, as if the statement alone were explanation enough.

"So?"

Happy blinked, then smiled. "Well, we've been…around a lot longer than most human folk. Built up a bit more tolerance for this kinda thing."

"This kinda thing? You mean the…the curse?" Trent shifted toward the former bookstore owner.

Happy broke into a wide grin. "Ah ha, so you _do _believe, eh? We're not so crazy anymore?"

Trent sighed and glanced down at the blue water lapping up against the edge of the basin. "You know what's crazy?" The dwarf leaned in, prompting him to continue. Trent hesitated, then blew out another sigh and shook his head. "Hearing all that in there, seeing Clancy's face in that picture…" he trailed off, dipping his fingers beneath the surface of the basin, drifting back in his mind to all those extra shifts he'd pulled at the hospital just to be near her. "Actually makes all of this _more _believable."

"Yeah?" Happy brightened, for surely so many folks willing to believe despite still being cursed was a sign of the progress Snow and her family were making. "Why's that?"

Trent shrugged. "It's crazy but…ever since Dawn was taken, I've been asking myself," he glanced back up at Joel with such sad eyes that the so-called Dwarf frowned. "Why _didn't _I ever go for it? Why did I spend so many years – as long as I can remember really – coming so close and then chickening out?"

Happy nodded, awkwardly reaching out to pat the young man on the shoulder.

"Then when I saw that picture with her and…a-and Matt, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That's just it," Trent explained. "I just…I somehow always _knew _that I didn't belong with her. That for some reason, we just…we couldn't be…together. That I didn't deserve her."

Happy continued to pat Trent's arm until the gesture itself began to feel awkward and he pulled back. With another sigh, he made a mental note to speak with Grumpy at some point about these difficult matters of the heart. Most dwarfs weren't really good with this sort of thing.

"You know what I still don't understand though?" Trent asked, his gaze suddenly sharp and focused, though he was looking past Happy now, as if he were remembering something.

"What's that?"

"Maeve."

Happy started. "Maeve? Who's Maeve?"

"The head nurse at the hospital."

"Where Dawn was taken?"

Trent nodded. "If I'm not supposed to be with her…if it's Matt who's this-this prince charming person—"

"King Philip. Prince _Charming _is actually—"

"Whatever. If he's not me, then why did Maeve send _me _after her? Why did she send me to find you in the first place?"

The dwarf straightened up and hopped off the edge of the basin. "That's right!" he exclaimed, remembering the other reason he'd sought out this poor Trent fellow in the first place. "I meant to ask you about that earlier. You said back at the Nolans that you'd been _sent _to find us. This…Maeve woman. She _knew_ about the toll bridge?"

"Yeah," Trent scratched the back of his neck as stray fragments of the strange conversation came back to him. "Said something about my having loved Dawn for over thirty years. Which is, well…nuts cuz I'm only 27 and—"

"Thirty years?!" Happy cried. "S-s-so she knows about the curse!"

"Yeah," said Trent, then he started. "Wait, what?"

"This Maeve must be awake if she's aware how long it's been. 28 years, Trent. That's how long the curse has lasted. That's how long it took for Emma to get back here."

"But if that's true then how—"

"Trent, I need you to think," said the dwarf, abruptly grasping Trent's arms. "Did she say anything else to you? Did she give you any other instructions? Hints? Clues?"

Trent stared blankly, shaking his head more in confusion than denial. But at last he remembered, and looked sharply down at the pocket of his coat. "Wait a second," he mumbled, reaching in his parka. "S-she gave me this—"

And no sooner had his hand closed around the oddly speckled egg, than the sweetest voice in the world sounded in his head: "_It's…it's Charlie Fisher. He works down at the docks, the east side marina. Comes in the hospital every so often to—"_

"Dawn!?" Trent called, clutching the egg to his heart so tightly he didn't even notice that the faint blue speckled on its hard shell had started glowing.

"_Dawn, focus," _he heard another voice, this time very faint. "_Comes in every so often to what?_"

Then Dawn's voice replied, louder, more clearly in his mind. "_To work with the deaf kids_…_Why would they do this to someone like Charlie?"_

"Dawn can you hear me?"

But before she could respond, the dwarf plucked the egg from his hand. Immediately, the bright blue glow faded and the egg reverted to dormancy. "Gods and demons," he gaped at its seemingly innocuous shape.

"Hey!" yelled Trent, lunging now for what – though it seemed impossible – was clearly a link to the young nurse. "Give that back. It's—"

"It's witchcraft," Happy muttered, turning from Trent without a word and practically leaping back into the cottage where the meeting had clearly broken up into several smaller conversations. "Snow!" he called across the room to where the princess stood at the front door, talking animatedly with Aladdin and Jasmine. All other chatter subsided as everyone watched Happy cross over to Snow, the strange egg in hand, Trent rushing up behind him. "Snow, look!" he said.

"What's wrong Happy?" she asked, concerned to see so much anxiety in the usually cheerful face.

"What is it?" asked Grumpy, joining them at the door.

"It's Maleficent," replied the frightened dwarf, handing the egg over to Grumpy who inspected it at once. "Trent had it in his pocket. She here, Snow. And she knows everything."

Snow's gaze darted up to Aladdin who spun immediately on his heel and headed out the front door towards the surface. Snow turned back to Happy who was now glancing around the room, looking for the one person in the history of all three realms ever to have bested the infamous witch. "Where's Philip?"

…

By the time Emma reached the surface, chasing after what was turning out to be the fasted damned fireman _ever_, she was stunned to discover that while they were all swapping stories and debriefing the long day's events, night had both fallen and then passed already, the sun peeking ever so faintly above the horizon, heralding the arrival of a new morning. Jesus, was it Saturday already? "Matt!" she called out to him, then heard the faint rustling of branches nearby. She turned, slightly stunned to find him not stalking away but rather slumped down on the trunk of a fallen tree, just outside the entrance to the caverns. Feeling suddenly as if she were being watched, Emma craned her head to the side and jumped as her gaze fell upon the beautiful, white mountain lion who had guided them down to the cottage. She was perched a ways up the steep incline of red rock, preening and purring like Garfield on an especially lazy afternoon. The majestic animal made no moves to disturb them though, and resumed her languid doze. With a nervous gulp, Emma turned back toward Clancy, wrapped her arms around her middle. "Matt, come back down. It's not safe up here."

Matt scoffed, continuing to stare at the frozen ground now covered with a light dusting of snow. "Safe. That's kind of a relative term now, wouldn't you say?"

Emma looked down and sighed. "Look, I know…I know this is all…a lot—"

"A lot?" Matt stood up, letting out a humorless laugh. "You guys are telling me I'm like the Obi-Wan Kenobi of magic and it's up to me to protect my—_realm _was it? – from evil witches and wizards. When I woke up this morning, I was a _fireman, _Emma. I don't think '_a lot' _quite covers it."

"I know," she said, frozen leaves crunching under her boots as she joined him by the trunk. "It's the curse, Matt. It's made you forget everything. But you _have _to believe them. If what Christopher is saying it true—"

"Do _you_?" he whirled on her, his gaze piercing into hers so deep she found she couldn't look away.

"Do I what?"

"Do you believe them? Do you believe…everything? Come on, Emma. I found you yesterday aiming a _gun_ at the mayor's head, not a wand."

This time Emma did look away, shuddering at the memory of how close she'd come to turning into a cold-blooded killer. _But it was all to help Henry, _she'd told herself. Saving her son. Surely that was enough to—

"Seems to me you're pretty grounded to _this _world, not theirs."

"I," she shivered, shaking her head again. "I…_wasn't_ cursed."

Matt glanced over at her, his breath catching in his throat as the wind whipped a strand of her blond hair across her face. Tentatively, he reached out to brush it away, "Emma—" he whispered.

But Emma scooted off the trunk, her heart pitter-pattering despite the distance she now put between them. "I'm not cursed," she repeated, "but _you _are, Matt. Y-y-you're cursed and we need to get you and Dawn Charles together so you—"

"Ugh!" Matt groaned, pushing himself off the log. Suddenly he was in front of her. "Why do you keep _saying_ that?" he demanded, and she felt his hands close tightly around her forearms.

Emma's eyes went wide. _Ohmigod_, she thought, the words congealing at the bottom of her throat. "B-because it's…true," she found herself replying before she could think to change her response. _Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod! _her mind shrieked. Her vision. Her god-dammed vision! Was this it?! Was it going to happen just as she'd seen it play out only hours ago?

_No, _she thought quickly, staring up into his eyes, his gaze full of that same longing she'd seen in her vision. _No, _she told herself, panicked. _Don't clairvoyant people see the future so they could _change_ the outcome?_ She could swear she remembered once spending an evening stuck in a cheap motel, watching a marathon of some TV show where the main character did exactly that – he got visions of the future so he could change what happened. Visions that helped him prevent murders, help the police uncover evidence…rescue kids who'd been kidnapped. _Henry, _she gulped, shaking her head. Her vision had been a warning – nothing more. A way to show her what would happen if she gave into her feelings. If she followed her heart and not her mind, she would ruin any chances of 'King Philip' reuniting with 'Princess Aurora' and securing the protection of magic in his realm so they could break the curse. She would ruin her chances of saving Henry, of saving them _all_. She could not let that happen. Too much, she thought— "T-too much depends on restoring your happy ending," she said, then mentally kicked herself. _No! _she scolded. _That's what you said _last _time! _

"Ugh!" Matt threw his head back, "There you go again with the happy ending thing. Look, even if I believed all that stuff back there," he pointed back at the cavern. "And I'm not saying that I don't. But I _promise _you, if I really am th-this prince, king, Philip-person, there's still no way that Dawn is my wife!"

"You just…don't remember," she said lamely, then slammed her eyes shut, turning away from him. _No! _she cried inwardly. Why was this happening? Why couldn't she stop it? Why couldn't she break free? It felt as if once again, she was trapped in her own mind. Like this _was _the vision and she was simply reciting lines. "I'm telling you, o-o-once we find her—"

"And I'm telling you," he grabbed her again and spun her around, "curse or no curse, Dawn Charles is _Davis's _girl, not mine. I think I would know if I'd ever had feelings for Dawn."

"That's the point!" she tried to shrug out of his hold again, but he was holding her too tight. And too close again…_way _too close again! Her throat closed up and her chest tightened, like she was suffocating, crumbling under the weight of her premonition. She was trying so hard to force herself to respond differently, to fling herself out of his arms, to alter this supposed destiny of theirs, but the vision was now so fresh in her mind, she seemed a slave to its direction. "You _wouldn't _know," she said thickly, "The curse gave you a new identity. New memories. New—" she tried to explain, the line between herself and what she knew was going to happen blurring just as it had in the vision itself.

"Yeah yeah, some sort of twisted mind-wipe," Matt was saying as his grip on her arms tightened. "I get it. I saw the mayor crush a man's heart to ash yesterday. I can buy just about anything. But I'm telling you," he steadied her, towering over her, and Emma's eyes hazed over. "I'm _sure _of it. I've never been in love…not yet." As he said it, his voice softened to a low, throaty rumble and his gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth. _Holy shit!_ she thought again, just as she had before. And just like the vision, her brain froze as Clancy's head darted down. His hands moved from her arms to cup her face and he tilted her head back. "Believe me," he said softly, barely above a whisper, "if I _have _a happy ending…" but he didn't finish. He didn't need to.

Despite the battle waging on in Emma's twisted brain, she couldn't bring herself to pull back. She wanted this. God help her, she wanted this. This wasn't like Graham – it wasn't a gesture of warmth to draw out his own memories and restore his identity. In fact, Emma was fairly certain, this would do the exact opposite. _No_, she thought, inwardly disgusted with herself. This was for her. Plain and simple. It had been far too long since she'd caved – since she'd _wanted _to cave. Before she could whisper his name, Matt Clancy drew her into an electrifying kiss…and Emma's world turned white. _No! _she screamed as the familiar vortex claimed her. _No please, _she begged as his lips claimed hers, _not again…_

"_Cover me!" cried Philip as he launched himself off one of the pillars descending into the mounting pile of rubble beneath them. He sprinted from one rocky, shaking platform to the other until he'd reached the third floor terrace. He looked behind him and saw Lucas following his lead, having successfully drawn Maleficent's fire enough for Philip to locate safe ground. "Come on!"_

_ Lucas soon joined him on the precipice overlooking the half destroyed courtyard of Rosebriar Castle. What a disaster. He'd be hard pressed to find a surer sign that this wedding had been a bad idea than his betrothed's lunatic aunt showing up just before the vows and transforming into this vicious, fire-breathing creature. What in the hell was this attack even for? What was the woman trying to prove? That she could still pack a punch?_

_ "She said Aurora would be at the top of the tallest tower," Lucas panted, swerving out of the way and just barely missing Maleficent's swipe with her tail. "That's the east tower, yes?"_

_ Philip nodded. Good old Lucas – his right had man, and today _best _man, to the last. Who else would have volunteered to help take on a two-ton dragon threatening mortal danger to Stefan's entire kingdom should they attempt to revive Aurora? "But the stairwell is blocked. We need another way up." Both of them ducked, and threw their shields over their heads as the dragon's continuous thrashing rained piles of chipped stone and stained glass on their heads. Cackling wildly, Philip could still hear traces of a human laugh in the dragon's hearty roar as they rolled and parried and dodged their way deeper into the castle. She lifted her massive tail and swiped at the royal with a heavy blow that severed a nearby column, though thankfully – once again – one that wasn't essential to the structural integrity of the place. _

_ Philip peered over the rim of his shield and assessed the scene. They'd reached the innner rotunda now, the large circular structure that led to each smaller tower by a series of stairwells that climbed into the heavens. Between him and the east corridor stood the dragon, who herself was easily four or five stories tall. This realization sparked an idea and Philip found himself smiling wickedly despite the dire circumstances. "I think I have another way up," he yelled over the fiery roar of the dragon, pointing his sword at Maleficent's tail, then looking over at Lucas with a cocky expression on his face._

_ Lucas followed the point of Philip's sword, confused at first, then in open-mouthed horror. "You _can't _be serious!" he screamed, ducking from beneath more falling debris. _

_ Philip just nodded and broke into a run. "Draw her fire!" he called back to him and then raced after Maleficent's tail while Lucas dutifully ran in the opposite direction, planting himself directly in front of the dragon's mighty torso._

_ "Oy! Effie!" he yelled, hoping the out-of-place familiarity might sufficiently distract her from his lunatic cousin. "I always knew you'd betray her! You ruddy coward!" It worked._

_ Maleficent's massive chest heaved in response and her nostrils unleashed a pulsing stream of fire just barely over the head of the duke, a spray of flames that surely would have singed Lucas's hair had he been a mere inch taller._

_ "Is that all you've got!?" cried Lucas, taunting her now while watching from the corner of his eye the sight of the prince reaching the end of the dragon tail, then climbing aboard. "You're nothing but a spoiled, bitter old maid, you know that?" he said, hoping to hold her attention while Philip actually used the dragon's tail and scaly back as a stairwell, sprinting up her spine to the upper level of the rotunda, beyond the point where the stairwell entrance was blocked. _Gods and demons, _he thought to himself with an eye roll. The prince actually looked to be enjoying this. He started and juddered his gaze back at the dragon who he expected would be winding up for another massive fire attack. But what he saw instead stopped him cold. She was staring at him. Just…staring. The dragon…sitting still and just…watching now as Lucas stepped toward her, sword raised. Dimly, she seemed aware that Philip had just used her as a ladder, though she didn't seem to mind. No, she just kept staring at him, through a dragon's eyes, yes, but with an expression that was deeply…human. "Come on!" he bellowed, though his voice was shaking. "What are you waiting for?!"_

_ "Lucas, I'm clear!" Philip called from on high, leaning out over the grand space of the rotunda from a tall dome-shaped window in the upper corridor. "Get out of there!"_

_ But before either could react, Maleficent arched one massive claw towards the duke and swept him up, her scaly fingers trapping him in her palm._

_ "No!" Philip cried out, about ready to jump onto her back and plunge his sword into her neck, but to do so now would further risk Lucas's life if she should drop him or land on her own hand, crushing him to death. "Lucas!" he screamed…and then he too froze in disbelief._

_ The dragon had not squeezed the life out of his cousin. She did not take Lucas by the ankle and dangle him over the terrace, threatening his demise. In fact, as she swept her claw up, her fingers uncurled, affording Lucas a view of his upward journey as she slowly, carefully, lifted him up to where Philip now stood. She flattened her palm, stretching out her fingers so they bridged the small gap between her hand and the upper hallway window. Philip looked on, dumbfounded, an expression that mirrored his cousin's as Lucas stepped off her palm and joined the prince in the corridor. Then the dragon…smiled. She tilted her snout toward the ceiling, closed her eyes, and in flash of light and color, reappeared beside them in the corridor, human once more – a devastatingly beautiful Lady Maleficent._

_ The men stood gaping as the dragon reverted to form, re-donning the long, flowing gown of deep violet in which she'd first appeared at the wedding. Her black lips curled into a smile that bore a striking resemblance to the dragon's grin as she brushed off her sleeve, adjusted the black-horned headpiece she'd chosen this morning for show, and cleared her throat, peaking out the window at the destruction she'd wrought below. "Well," she said in a deep voice. "I think that should be sufficient." She glanced back at those she'd cast as heroes in her charade with a satisfied nod. "I never did like this drab rotunda. Now Stefan will be forced to commission its repair, and Leah will _hopefully _choose a slightly more…opulent mode of décor."_

_ "What are you playing at, Maleficent?" cried Philip, again on the defensive, sword raised._

_ "Relax my boy," said the sorceress as she stepped toward them, unalarmed by the pointed weapons. "I intend to go out in a blaze of glory for which you will undoubtedly get all the credit you crave. But there are some things I must tell you now before our grand finale." Then she turned her head and stared right into the soul of Lucas. "And _you_," she leveled an almost accusatory gaze, "must finally admit the truth."_

_ "No," Lucas whispered, mouth hanging open and shaking his head._

_ "No what? What is she—"_

_ "I-it can't be. She _promised _me—"_

_ "Do you really expect a woman so desperately in love to keep such a promise when you force her to marry another?" she turned back to Philip and allowed her words to take on their full meaning._

_ Philip slowly shifted his gaze to his cousin, the weight of Maleficent's speech and the details of the day adding up all too quickly. "Lucas?"_

_ Lucas did not return the look, but remained fixed on Aurora's aunt. "So…all of this—"_

_ "Pure spectacle. Staged for the benefit of having someone _else_ to blame – for you to _have_ to reveal the truth but to do so honorably, in the interest of saving us all," she added with a little extra flourish in her voice. Then she leveled her gaze, a teasing grin on her face. "You really should learn to trust your eyes, duke. We tried to show you with the stable hand's daughter." Then she faced them both. "I am not your enemy."_

_At that, Philip managed to stop gawking at his cousin and turn back to the queen's infamous sister sorceress. "You've got a funny way of showing it," he spat, raising the remains of his charred shirt off his shoulder – courtesy of her fire-breathing rage._

"_I'm sure you have a closet full of spares, Philip," she quipped, then turned to his cousin. "The spell, Lucas. It can be reversed only by true love's kiss. Nothing less will awaken her…that was Aurora's idea."_

_Philip shot her another accusing look. "And for _that_ you had to _destroy _Stefan's entire castle?"_

_But Maleficent simply shook her head with quiet confidence. "Look around you, Philip. The damage is minimal – cosmetic at best. And you will notice I took great care not to actually harm anybody at your ceremony – though I was tempted to get in a good swipe at old Merriweather—"_

"_And why should we believe _this _is any less of a trick?" Philip countered, his sword still raised, though from the corner of his eye, he could tell she'd rendered his cousin utterly numb._

_ She sighed. She supposed she couldn't blame Philip. The local scuttlebutt on 'Mean old Maleficent' had not been favorable over the years. He had no reason to believe that she was in earnest. But the charade would not succeed on any front if they stood here talking much longer. Soon the palace guard would sense the violence had ceased. Stefan would send reinforcements and if they were found chatting like this…"Please try to understand. The spell was Aurora's idea – a way to prove to you, and to everyone else that Lucas is the girl's true love." She paused and looked down at Lucas whose head was now hanging in sorrow. "Whether or not you will take advantage of this opportunity Lucas, is up to you, as you and I both know what other revelations that will entail." Lucas's head shot up with a warning gaze, which Philip didn't at all miss but couldn't spare the time to demand another explanation._

_ "And ripping up the palace to shreds? That was Aurora's idea too?" Philip spat, though finally lowering his sword. If she'd wanted to, she could have ripped _him_ to shreds by now. _

_ "No," Maleficent lowered her gaze. "That was mine," she said quietly. "There is trouble brewing in our realms gentlemen, trouble that far eclipses that of your little love triangle here," she waved her hands at them dismissively and shook her head. "I am sure you have heard of the misfortunes plaguing New Gaia."_

_ "Snow and Regina's civil war? Yes, we've heard," Philip replied tersely. _

_ "Regina is hell bent on having her revenge one way or another. She has commissioned a new war council – a group of adversaries who at one point or another were all defeated by royals currently reigning over the three realms. They're calling it the Council of Rogues."_

_ "And you've been issued an invitation," Lucas muttered gravely, finally breaking his silence._

_ Maleficent paused, then shook her head, "Not yet, but soon."_

_ "Perfect," Philip scowled, sheathing his sword though keeping his shield up. "Yet one more reason to trust you."_

_ "In a moment, I will return to my dragon form, set myself on fire, and fly out of here screeching in agony in a spectacular display, your Highness," she snapped at him, quickly tiring of his narrow-minded blustering. "You need only confirm that it was you indeed who bested me, and no one will ever be the wiser for it. In doing so, news of my failed siege on the castle will reach Regina's ears and she will invite me into her confidence. _That _is the reason," she paused and gestured to the fallen pillars and shattered windows, "for all of _this._"_

_ Philip and Lucas exchanged worried glances, but were both finally seeing the wisdom in her plan. "Why?" was Lucas's only question. "Why purposefully cast yourself as a villain when you never had any intention of harming your niece? Something you swore to do over 18 years ago?"_

_ "That is my business," Maleficent bristled, drawing back and looking as if she would transform at any moment._

_ "The hell it is," Philip countered, stopping her. "If you want us to go along with this – if you want us to trust you to collaborate with a _known_ enemy, we need a better reason than that."_

_ At last, Maleficent relented, and turned once more to face them. "It's really quite simple, gentlemen. I _love_ my niece." The statement hung in the air, the sincerity of her reply eclipsed by its brusqueness. They remained unconvinced, and Maleficent had to work hard at maintaining her patience and understanding of why this might be so difficult to swallow. "In the old days I was…young, and foolish," she explained at last with a sigh. "And everyone knew I was in love with Stefan." She closed her eyes, sucking in a breath and getting lost in the memories of those painful days of adolescent heartbreak. "Of course, Stefan loved my _sister_, not me. So when the day came for them to announce their engagement, I…behaved poorly."_

_ "You set the buffet table on fire," Philip reminded her, having heard the story over and over from his own father. _

_ "As I said, I was young and foolish, and could not accept that Stefan had chosen Leah. And…" she sighed again with resignation, "… it did not help matters that everyone knew I had studied dark magic. The night of the banquet, I allowed my emotions to get the better of me and lost control of my powers. The fire was an accident, but no one cared. From that day on, I was branded a sorceress and banished from court. I wallowed in bitterness for a long while, but gradually came to accept responsibility for my actions." Maleficent paused a moment and moved solemnly toward the corridor window, looking down in the direction of the courtyard where she knew her sister and brother-in-law were likely bustling with worry, preparing to send in the royal guard to discern the state of Philip's progress. "When Aurora was born, I thought I might effect a reconciliation. As Leah's only sister, it was tradition in our family that I should be named the child's godmother, but Stefan would not hear of it—"_

_ "So you threatened Aurora _herself—" _Philip finished for her, all too familiar with _that _story. A seven-year-old doesn't soon forget the first time he sees an evil witch._

_ "Yes yes," Maleficent said impatiently, "I'm afraid it was a long while before I was able to control my temper. But—" she looked beyond them to where the upper-level corridor met up with the circular staircase leading to Aurora's tower, "Aurora believed in me. When no one else would – not even my own sister – Aurora knew and saw the good left inside of me." She walked right up to Lucas and forced him to meet her gaze. "She saved me, Lucas. So I will do whatever it takes…to protect _her_." Then she turned to Philip who at last had lowered his own shield. "And whether you end up a bachelor today or a married man, know that you will have a powerful ally in Queen Regina's company…a mole you must keep secret at all costs. For all our sakes."_

_ And just as quickly as she'd transfigured herself into Aurora's 'Aunt Effie', Maleficent reversed the transformation and slipped on the skin of her dragon form with the grace of a swan. Lucas and Philip watched in silence as she soared towards the sky, lit herself ablaze as planned and went screeching off into the distance, the sounds of the distant crowd cheering and trumpets blaring in her wake. Together they stood, at the base of the final stairwell that would lead to Aurora's chamber, neither able to utter a word until at last, Lucas attempted an apology._

_ "Philip I—"_

_ "Why didn't you tell me?" he snapped, his gaze harsh, his voice tense as he eyed his cousin with almost regal disapproval. "Why were you going to let me go through with marrying the girl _you _love?!"_

_ "It was the right thing to do—"_

_ "Gods and Demons, Lucas! When I think of what we almost did—"_

_ "No," Lucas protested quietly, "What you must _still _do."_

_ "What?!" Philip bellowed. "Are you mad? I can't possibly—"_

_ "You can, and you must," said the duke, with a sort of steady resignation in his voice he wouldn't have thought himself capable of. But he had not missed the subtle implications of Maleficent's words…_all _of Maleficent's words. The truth must indeed come out. The _entire _truth. With her knowledge of the dark arts and her ties to black magic, she must know everything. And he must now reveal it Philip…quickly. Lucas turned his head and stared at him before he moved toward the stairwell. "This wedding must proceed as planned."_

_ Lucas flew up the stairs faster than Philip had ever known him to be able to run, and before long, the two of them were in the darkened tower, standing before Aurora, the sleeping beauty whose bed was illuminated by only a handful of burning candles in the circular chamber._

_ "You're crazy if you think I'm still going through this wedding knowing how you feel about her," Philip hissed fiercely, the ambiance of the room prompting him to whisper, though both knew now there was only one sure way to awaken her._

_ "You were perfectly willing to marry her _without_ loving her an hour ago Philip," Lucas reminded him, careful to keep the bitterness from his voice, though not taking his eyes from his true love, his heart constricting with every painful word. "And you must be so again."_

_ "Gods, you're mad!" Philip stepped further into the room, gesturing toward the princess. "You were mad not to tell me what developed between you two and you're mad now not to take what Maleficent has done and—"_

_ "It's more complicated than that," Lucas sighed, shaking his head. "Something Maleficent obviously figured out. Something I _tried _to tell Aurora and…and couldn't." At last, Lucas tore his gaze away from Aurora and faced Philip. "Your father's treaty with Stefan depends on a union of the two kingdoms through marriage. In order to ensure the protection and longevity of Rosebriar, that union must take place—"_

_ "But a union can _still _take place between our families, Lucas. Surely you must see how simple the solution is—"_

_ "It _would _be simple," Lucas again raised his voice, but more in frustration with himself than the prince. Oh why had he waited so long to tell? After everything Aurora had gone through to change their fates. If he'd only told her, if he'd only made it clear—_

_ "Lucas, you're my mother's nephew – part of the Braemar line. The union will stand if—"_

_ "I'm not the queen's nephew," said the duke with the weight of a courtroom confession in his voice. "I'm not her nephew," he repeated quietly, "I'm not really your cousin."_

_ Philip's jaw dropped and he stared at the man in outright horror. "What?!"_

_ "I have no relation to the Braemar line. If it were to proceed on the basis of _my _ties alone, any adversary could challenge and void the contract, thereby leaving Rosebriar unprotected and vulnerable to other less…benevolent kingdoms. It's not what your father wanted for his friends and I c-can't—" he sucked in a breath, his voice breaking into pieces along with his heart— "no matter how much I—" he shook his head, finally having to succumb to exhaustion and remorse, collapsing into the one lone stool at the side of Aurora's bed. _

_ Philip gaped at his friend – no…lifelong companion – the man he'd trusted with his life on more than one occasion, a man who bore a striking resemblance to himself. How was it possible this man before him _wasn't _his cousin? "Lucas," he said quietly, placing his hand on the duke's shoulder. "What…what do you mean you're…_not _mother's nephew?"_

_ Lucas took another deep breath, tears already welling in his eyes as he forced himself to go back to that awful day. "Your parents saved my life, Philip. My parents. My _real _parents were…well they were gypsies, but not like," he hurried the explanation, "not like Agrabahn gypsies. They were…" he choked up a bit, managing to lift his gaze, then gulped. "They were warlocks."_

_ Philip gasped, snatching his hand away without thinking, then feeling like an ass. Warlocks were humans who on occasion demonstrated a propensity for dark magic. They worked notoriously as highwaymen, known for being especially vicious to those they victimized. They delighted in the pain they could cause with their magic, their twisted sense of humor evident in the way they hexed those they robbed. The most infamous tale ever told was of a drunken fool who once blustered to his pals that he could fight a whole slew of warlocks 'empty-handed.' Hearing this, a local band of warlocks marked him as a target for mischief, and the poor man was last seen screaming in horror upon suddenly finding that he had…indeed…no hands. Fortunately warlocks were a rare breed and even rarer were those who could control their magic enough to operate it consistently. The physical effects were seldom permanent and could be reversed by any decent witch or fairy, but the emotional effects were long lasting. The were, in a sense, the underlings of the magic-wielding world._

_ "By the time I was old enough to be working the country roads with my parents, they'd realized I couldn't do what they could do. That I was born without powers. I was treated as an outcast among outcasts and given the scut-work," Lucas went on, his eyes hazing over as he traveled back in his mind. "Standing as lookout, sabotaging carriages, spooking horses – that sort of thing."_

_ Philip looked around, desperate for another stool or chair to sit on as cascades of information fell over him. At last he settled on awkwardly leaning against the edge of the bed, pressing his palms into the mattress though careful not to disturb the sleeping beauty. _

_ "One night, your parents were returning from a survey of new lands they'd acquired from Midas. Their party was much smaller than your average royal entourage and my parents mistook them for average noblemen. Once they realized their error, they tried to…they tried –" his breath hitched in his throat, his mouth turning to ash. The poor legacy left to him by his parents was so shameful, he could hardly bear to relive it. _

_ Sensing his shame, Philip placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Luc. Just tell me."_

_ Lucas sucked in a breath and looked up. "They were afraid having attacked a royal that they would be executed. So they thought the only way out of it was to…to slaughter your parents, make it look like an assassination and then disappear." Philip gasped through his nose, but this time kept his hand firmly on Lucas's shoulder. "Their attempt was a pathetic one – they didn't know Hubert had already contracted Fauna's help from Rosebriar. Two warlocks and a talentless kid are no match for an elder fairy."_

_ "No," said Philip quietly. "I…I'd imagine not."_

_ "In their arrogance and stupidity, my parents were killed by their own deflected spells, but me? Magdalena found me rifling under the luggage rack beneath the carriage. I was so thick, I didn't even realize my parents' con had gone awry. I was just…doing my job." He glanced up at his surrogate cousin and clasped Philip's wrist. "Your mother," he said with overwhelming esteem. "She could see I'd been little more than a slave to them – barely a hired hand…nowhere close to a son. They took me home that day, made up some story about a deceased sister and…well," he looked down, dropping his elbows to his knees, "…you know the rest."_

_ The two were silent for a long while, neither able to put in words what one wanted to say to the other. At last, Lucas looked up at Aurora, leaned forward and clasped her cold hand in his own. "Your parents gave me everything," he rasped. "A family, a real home, a…a brother. How could I betray them here? How could I threaten the security, reputation and honor of not only their kingdom but that of their dearest friends'?"_

_ "Lucas," Philip crouched down in front of him, forcing his gaze away from the princess. "Stefan and Leah are fond of you too. Surely if you just told them—"_

_ "Stefan is likely one of the few people Hubert trusted with the secret of my past, and even if that isn't the case, how could I ask it of them? How could I bring the shame of my lineage to this family?"_

_ "That's your parents' shame," argued the prince. "Not yours. Hell Lucas, you fought _beside _me in the war against the Snow Queen. You've won victories for all of Braemar. You're the Duke of Glowerhaven for Gods' sake!"_

_ "A small province of mostly farmers," he pointed out. "Hardly the whole of Rosebriar."_

_ "Ok look," Philip huffed, pinching his nose in frustration. "Even if I agreed with you about this – " he glanced up from beneath his furrowed brow— "and I _don't _by the way, there's still the problem of waking Aurora in the first place." He rose from his knees and stood facing the sleeping princess. "True love's kiss, Luc. That's certainly not going to come from _me_. And when she sees that you've woken her…when she sees that _I've _seen—"_

_ "She musn't," said Lucas with sudden resolve. "She can never know."_

_ "What?!"_

_ "Hurry," said the duke as he moved toward the stairwell, hearing the distant voices of knights now rushing up the dilapidated staircase. "The guards will be here soon." He moved back toward Aurora's bed and sat at the very edge, taking her hands once more. "I will wake her, and then you must take my place before she opens her eyes."_

_ "Lucas, are you mad?!" Philip cried. "I'll _never _be able to keep this from her. I couldn't _do _that to her. Or you! Are you forgetting she's the one who _planned _this whole thing so she wouldn't have to go through with this wedding?"_

_ But Lucas was already shaking his head. "If she thinks you love her, she will learn to accept it. Especially if…" he gulped down the vile, bitter taste in his mouth as he realized the full weight of his decision. "Especially _when _I'm not here."_

_ "This is insane—"_

_ "Philip please!" Lucas implored, shooting him a penetrating glare. "Never have I asked you for anything. I have dutifully stood by you and your every whim. Joined your every adventure. Engaged in every insipid fight you wanted to pick and toured every exotic, toxic, dangerous land you've wanted to explore. Please do this for me now. Honor the wishes of your parents who gave me life. Honor this woman—" he glanced down— "who gave me love. Do for Aurora, for her people, for your father…what I cannot. Please."_

_Philip stood there gaping at him, stunned by the devastating and powerful effect of his speech. He could do nothing to sway his cousin – yes _cousin – _for that is what Lucas would _always _be to him. Blood be damned. His cousin…his brother. The footsteps of the soldiers drew nearer. Time was of the essence. If they were to ensure that history would record this day differently than it had actually happened, they must act now or every sacrifice – both Lucas's and Maleficent's – would be for nothing. With a heavy heart, the prince nodded at last, stood behind the duke and waited for him to awake his beloved… _

"_Ph-philip?"…_

"_Yes…It's me"…_

"_Where…how did you…what—"_

"_Shh," said Philip, as he slipped a supportive arm beneath the princess's back and helped her sit up. "Relax, Aurora. It's over. You're safe."_

"_Wh-what happened?"_

"_Maleficent," explained the prince, looking down at his hands and swallowing hard. "She cast a…a sleeping curse on you and…tried to take over the kingdom—"_

"_No, I know _that_ but—" she paused, staring back at Philip's eyes. "You," she reached out to him, tentatively cupping his cheek. "_You_ woke me?"_

_Philip cleared his throat, barely able to utter the words. "Y-yes?" he said, careful not to drop his gaze. '_If she believes you love her, she will learn to accept it,' _Lucas had said. He must not give her cause to doubt._

_Aurora's brow creased in confusion, but she didn't look away. "With…true love's kiss?"_

_Philip's lips curled into a gentle smile (though from the corner of his eye, he could see the faint silhouette of a figure descending quietly down the stairs). "Yeah," he forced a chuckle and shrugged. "Who knew?"_

_Aurora shook her head. "I…I don't…" she muttered, then looked up again, searching her chamber once more. "Where's—"_

"_Aurora," Philip said softly, removing the blanket that covered her and helping her ease out of the bed and swing her legs over its side. "Come, we should let your father and mother know that you're safe."_

"_Yes, but—"_

"_And we have a wedding to finish"…_

…When Emma was slammed back to the present, he was still kissing her, over and over again as if he couldn't get enough. She clung to him, for fear of falling over from the disorientation, but very quickly became caught up in the embrace that, for her, had begun hours ago.

He held her face in his palms, caressing the pads of his thumbs along her cheeks with each kiss before tracing his hands down the length of her arms and circling around her waist. Gently, he traced one hand up her back and plunged his fingers through the long waves of blonde hair at her nape. Emma's head was spinning, not only from the overload of information she'd just witnessed – of what, to date, had been her longest vision – but from the sheer intensity of the kiss that her head was screaming for her to end while her heart begged for more. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped as he gently pressed her to him by the small of her back, unrelenting. Her soft cry of surprise electrified him and he deepened the kiss, surrendering to the unshakable knowledge in his own heart that here, finally, was a woman he could love, the kind of woman who was his equal in every way – adventurous, spirited, incapable of taking anyone's crap without one hell of a fight.

In the space of a breath, he whispered her name, his eyes fluttering open as he watched hers grow heavy and fall closed again before he resumed the kiss. He dropped both hands back to her waist and wrapped his arms around her tightly, playing with fire as he dared to coax her mouth open with his tongue, overwhelmed by the passion in his heart. _Emma, _he thought again as the name filled his soul. Emma…Princess Emma. The daughter of Snow… and…James – _holy hell!_

Abruptly, King Philip tore his mouth from the young deputy's leaving both of them panting and staring at each other, each too afraid to speak and break the spell. He gazed at her, his eyes hazy and wondrous, as if waking from a dream though feeling like he was still dreaming. Snow. And James. And the others; he remembered them all, but his awakening was not the abrupt jolt and shock to his system that he supposed 'Matt Clancy' might have been anticipating. Philip had simply slipped back into his consciousness, frighteningly aware of the sad state of things for his world and his people. Good Gods, had it really been 28 years? Was the queen really going to use loved ones as leverage against the guardians? Did they truly have so little time before Regina made good on her threat and crushed another heart?

And then there was Emma – on the one hand the _daughter _of close friends, colleagues…contemporaries. _James's _daughter! What in the hell was wrong with him? Yet on the other, Fate played by her own set of rules, and not even the reigning prince and princess of New Gaia could argue with results no matter how loudly they would protest. Philip was awake. Awakened by a kiss – true love's kiss. If there were any law of magic more binding, Philip of all people couldn't name it. He'd seen its power. He stood by and watched as Lucas's love restored Aurora, and then he shamefully took the credit for the sake of honor and duty. And now he knew its power first hand. For in his arms was Emma – their savior…his – against all odds and laws of nature – true love.

Emma's musings, at that same moment, were less complex. She too stared in amazement, conscious – at least in some part – of all the same truths both the vision and the kiss had revealed. Yet there was only one thought that occupied her mind as she'd drawn away from kissing '_King _Philip'of Braemar: _My father's gonna kill me._

The reaction was knee-jerk, involuntary, and she promptly laughed at the absurdity of a nearly 30-year-old woman worrying about what her 'daddy' would think.

Philip cocked an eyebrow as she chuckled and seemed about to reply, when the ground started to rumble beneath them. Breaking apart from the sheer force of the tremor, Emma stumbled over a thicket of brambles and Philip fell against a tree, each trying to grasp for something that might keep them stable. "What the hell?" she spluttered aloud, then looked up. In the distance, Emma noticed the huge canopy of trees beginning to unfold, dense and thick branches arching away from each other like petals on a blooming flower. The trees seemed to be dividing, pulling apart, unraveling, and Emma broke into a sprint at the sight of it.

"Emma!" the medic yelled behind her, and she could tell he was following her. _Let him_, she thought as the two went deeper into the woods, the cold temperatures around them inexplicably turning warm as they drew closer to the enclave of trees. Running had the effect of countering the quake that continued to rumble beneath them, and soon they were upon the sight, staring open mouthed at the forest teeming with activity, molding, shifting, reshaping itself as if making space for something. Before long, the woods had produced a small, circular glade, and protruding from the center ring, rising slowly from the dirt and twisting upward, was a round, stone basin – a wishing well: the second of three Rumpelstiltskin said would rise as the…guardians...of each realm…awoke – _Oh my God! – _

Emma whipped around and stared at Clancy, but she knew then it wasn't Clancy anymore. "You…you're—" she stuttered, grasping to regain control of the English language. "Ph-philip?" He nodded, and Emma staggered back.

"See?" he murmured, gesturing to the unearthed wishing well, as sure a sign as any that both guardians of his and Adam's realm were now awake. "Like I said…it's not Aurora. Never was."

…

*****Whew! Yay! I've had that flashback in my head for like, a year. Great to finally have it out of my head and on the screen for you to peruse!**

**Hopefully this chapter clears up the unintentional confusion I guess I raised with my author's note last chapter – in short: no, I have no intentions of introducing 'Swanfire' into this story. It's nothing I have against Neal, it's just not the direction I was ever headed with Emma a year and a half ago when I started this story (LONG before WE ever met Neal).**

**Plenty more in store for all our heroes (and only one more guardian to go, whoo hoo! Where IS that Ariel, hmm?) **** We need to check in soon with Henry and his new friends, and we've gotta take this fight to the queen now, but not before we get some more answers out of Maeve!**

**Stay tuned!**

**(By the way, bonus points for those of you who correctly guess what sci-fi marathon Emma was watching in that motel! One of my all time favorites btw. Couldn't resist)**

**(Oh and did anyone see Monsters University and/or Man of Steel? Pretty sweet summer for movies eh?)**

**Ciao! – Nikstl*****


	41. The Sixth Guardian

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

…

**The Sixth Guardian**

Philip and Emma were quickly rushed by a throng of allies emerging from the caves, all clambering about the quake and scurrying forward with weapons drawn in anticipation of an attack.

"What was that?"

"Oh my gods—"

"Is that what I think it is?"

"That's…Emma is that—"

"It's all right," Emma found her voice, spreading her hands wide and beckoning them all to calm down. For the moment, everyone was safe. In fact, the rising of this well was more than good news. "Yes," she turned to her mother. "It's a…wishing well."

Snow grasped her daughter's wrist and squeezed, gaping at what was surely a good omen. Despite her still injured ankle, the raven-haired princess had led the way up the stone staircase just behind Aladdin with Red, Granny, Archie, Marco, Jasmine, Trent, Happy and Grumpy behind her.

"The second, to be exact," Philip chimed in with a grin. "The one that heals what is hurt. From mine and Adam's realm."

The entire group whirled around with a collective double-take on the firefighter who was standing almost smugly beside Emma, arms crossed over his chest with a distinct air of being 'in-the-know.'

Grumpy pointed an accusing finger at the young king. "Did he just say—"

"Philip," said Aladdin, stepping forward and glaring at his old friend. "You're awake?"

Philip looked between the prince consort and his wife, old dear friends whom he honestly thought, during those terrible months leading up to the curse, he might never see again. He clapped a hand on Aladdin's shoulder and nodded. "I'm awake."

"That's wonderful!"

"Oh Philip!"

"Gods and Demons!"

But amidst the eruption of merriment, Aladdin retreated back a step and peered between him and Emma with curious scrutiny. "How?"

Philip glanced over at Emma and smiled. "Well, as a matter-of-fact—"

"I touched him," Emma said quickly, studiously avoiding Philip's shocked gaze. "On the shoulder, just like you," she pointed at Aladdin. "Then everything just…came rushing back…he said." This time, she glared right _at _Philip, as if daring him to contradict her while she moved closer to her mother. The meaning in her glare was unmistakable as an awkward silence settled over the group: _back me up or I will scratch your eyes out._

Philip cleared his throat, then smiled at Snow. "That's right. Quite a powerful daughter you have there, Snow." He sighed as Snow turned a proud gaze on Emma. "Everything," he snapped his fingers. "Rushed right back."

Aladdin snorted, arms crossed. "That's not possible."

Emma whirled on him. "Why not?" she challenged, "It worked on _you._"

"Yeah, but _you _and _I _are—"

"Aladdin," Jasmine interrupted, reading far more in the young blonde's gaze than would ever occur to her magically-minded husband. "Never mind your theories." She stepped over to kiss the king's cheek. "What matters is he's awake. It's just wonderful, Philip."

Philip nodded gratefully, "Your highness." As Jasmine returned to Aladdin's side, Philip caught his old friend's eye and shook his head. Al cocked an eyebrow but let the matter drop…for now.

Snow, who watched the whole exchange curiously, glancing every so often to an equally confused Archie, finally shook her head and decided to move them on to more pressing issues. "That's five out of six guardians now awake, Emma," she said with renewed pride in her daughter, though the news did little to ease her worry over her still missing husband _and _grandson.

Jasmine nodded. "All we need now is Ariel."

Emma cupped her fist over her mouth and blew hot air into her palm. "The mermaid, right? Do we know where she is? Or _who_?"

Snow clapped her arm around her daughter, a move at which neither even flinched regardless of its being instinctively maternal. Besides, Snow couldn't help it. Emma looked like she was freezing. "We saw her last night at the tree lighting. Her name here is Marina Andersen – a singer who works at The Ugly Duckling."

Emma coughed. "I'm sorry, the _what_?"

"The Ugly Duckling," said Philip as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over Emma's shoulders. She turned and glared at him again, though she couldn't very well refuse the gesture without drawing _more _attention to them than Philip had risked once already. And quite frankly, it seemed silly to reject chivalry from a _real-life _knight in shining armor. "It's a club down by the east docks."

"Lots of snooty, high society types go there," mumbled Trent, who up until this point had been dead-silent, but felt like he needed to contribute _something _to this strange crowd if he were going to be kept in the loop about Dawn. Besides, the quicker they figured out this new round of nonsense, the sooner Leroy—or Grumpy or whoever would explain what the hell was going on with that egg-shaped thing through which he'd heard Dawn's frightened voice.

Emma nodded, rubbing her arms and glancing at the way the early morning sun glistened over the snow blanketing the miles of trees around them. For a moment, she blinked, as if seeing the snow for the first time. Winter, it seemed, had crept up on them all. "Ok, well. She's the 'Little Mermaid' right? How close is her story to the one we—" she glanced sheepishly at her mother, "that _I _know?"

Snow thought for a moment, reaching back to her 'Mary Margaret' days and recalling the popular film. "Fairly close, actually. She met Eric, made a deal with the sea witch, transformed." Then she paused. "Although…"

"What?"

Snow sighed, "Well there's an element to the legend of mermaids I've never quite understood. Your father does, though. In fact, your father's the one who knows her best. They met as children."

Emma blinked. "Really?" she asked, _still_ not quite accustomed to the rich and continuously intertwining histories connecting these people.

Her mother nodded to the rest of the crowd. "James would know best where to start with her happy ending."

"Great," Emma grimaced, fresh worry brewing in her gut for her father's continued absence. "If only we knew where he _was_."

"Maybe we do," said Grumpy, holding up the egg he'd confiscated from Happy and Lucas. And all eyes were suddenly on the dwarf.

Emma blinked again, waiting for Grumpy to continue, but he just held the strangely speckled thing out for display like those women presenting the showcase showdown on The Price is Right. "Ok, I'll bite," she said impatiently. "What is _that_?"

"It's a soulodestone," Grumpy grinned, always quite proud to be the resident expert where magic was concerned.

"A _what_?" Trent and Emma said at the same time.

It was Philip who replied. "A soulodestone," he whispered, taking it from Grumpy. "Maleficent."

"That's right," Grumpy agreed. "Definitely Maleficent's design. We came across them late in the battle to retake the kingdom. We thought at first they were Regina's but we quickly recognized signs of witchcraft."

Emma glanced between Philip and Grumpy, then over to Aladdin who inspected the item too and nodded. Was she missing something? "So what?" she asked finally. "Isn't Regina a witch too?"

Philip shook his head. "Technically, no. Regina's primarily a sorceress, not a witch."  
>"There's a difference?"<p>

"Kind of," Aladdin replied, holding his hand out. Philip passed him the egg and he too inspected the design. "Both deal in the dark arts, but witchcraft involves the channeling of magic through ordinary things. Brewing potions, transfiguring pumpkins into carriages, that sort of thing."

"Pumpkins into carriages?" Emma wrinkled her nose. "Isn't that," she turned to Grumpy, "A fairy godmother thing?"

Aladdin snorted. "Don't get me started—"

"_Sorcery_," Philip continued for him, glaring at his friend, "is more about conjuring or spell-casting. Using words and casting curses, rather than mixing ingredients to effect magic."

Emma glanced at her mother. "So…the curse, it's—"

"Sorcery," Snow nodded. "It's why Regina needed the blind _witch_ to create the apple that initially poisoned me. She was always a far more powerful sorceress than witch."

"And," Emma turned to Grumpy, "Maleficent?"

Grumpy sighed. "She's both."

A wide grin split across Emma's face. "That's…that's perfect!" she cried, almost gleefully as she turned to Philip. But Philip started back and stared at her.

Grumpy nearly choked on his own grunt. "What?! Whadyou mean, perfect?! _This,_" he snatched the soulodestone back from Aladdin and held it before her, "is what we came up here to warn you about in the first place. Before, you know, the _ground_ started shaking!? A woman named Maeve _gave _this to Trent. A woman who knew all about us and the curse and how long we'd all been here? A woman who probably _is _Maleficent in disguise –"

"Grumpy—" Snow tried.

"This is _far _from perfect, your Highness. Trent could _hear _Dawn through the stone. That's how these things work. Which means Maleficent _has _Dawn. And if Maleficent has Dawn then you can bet she has James too. And probably Belle and—"

"Grumpy!" Snow barked at her smallish friend who finally silenced. "What _did _you mean, Emma?" she asked her daughter.

But Emma glanced hastily back at Philip. She hadn't missed his warning gaze, and she knew she was far too under-informed about 'Fairy Tale World' to risk revealing something that perhaps she shouldn't. So she looked for him to take the lead, but instead found him still glaring at her. Why was he glaring at her? Why wasn't he speaking up? After what she'd seen, how could he not be jumping at the chance to reveal to them that a potential threat might actually turn out to be their greatest ally? Especially when only a few hours ago, they'd all feared—

Emma gasped. What _she'd _seen. Her vision. She kept forgetting that no one else seemed to witness what she saw when she entered her vortex – that her parents were the only ones who knew about it in the first place. Philip had no clue how much of his past she'd already pried into. The responsibility of owning up to her knowledge of those memories congealed into a huge lump in her throat. "I um…" she stammered to him, her face growing warm despite the snow and ice around them. "I saw it…when I…when I touched you." Philip's eyes grew wider as Emma turned to the rest of the group. Emma felt her mother's arm settle once more around her own. "I'm a," she looked to Snow who nodded. "I'm a Seer."

An eerie silence fell over the group as those who were awake stood in awe while those left in the dark looked nervously at one another, wondering what new staggering revelation had been uttered _this _time. Finally, it was Archie who spoke up first. "What's a Seer?"

Grumpy gaped at the new princess almost reverently. "Seers see the future—"

"Naw they don't," argued Happy. "They see the past—"

"I see both," Emma corrected them and then even Snow gasped. Emma turned to Philip. "And when I…woke you," she said carefully, "I saw you. I saw the day you and—" she glanced over at Trent— "you and Lucas went to rescue Aurora."

Philip eyed her with an unreadable expression, and Emma gulped, trying to ignore how it irked her somewhat to have him look at her so skeptically. But at last his eyes softened and he gave her a nod before turning to the rest of the group. "There's um…" he cleared his throat, looking from Lucas to Happy, to Grumpy and Aladdin, then finally to Snow. "There's something you all should know…about Maleficent."

…

_In her entire life, Ariel – King Triton's youngest and brightest jewel – had only ever met one human. She'd never told anyone about it of course since contact between the mermaid world and the human world had been forbidden from the time she was nine. But her insane curiosity for and about anything having to do with humankind could not be mollified simply by the treasures that sank to the ocean bed or the stories told by her sisters. In fact, Ariel could hardly stomach the whimsical, yet wholly trivial way her older sisters regarded their turns on the surface anymore, retelling their stories as little more than gossip or nostalgia while they busied themselves with preparations for each other's weddings. How could they not treasure every second of every day they'd been granted up there? How could they swim along, singing in festivals, carrying on like any other mermaid, and not crave the warmth of the sun, the salty sea air, the way the wind whipped through the damp locks of their hair and kissed their faces? _

_ Yes, the "little mermaid" as her sisters loved to tease her, since she was a good 7 years younger than her next youngest kin, was heartsick at the thought of never being allowed the privilege the other princesses had enjoyed, and so she had taken to creating memories of her own, in secret, and in violation of nearly everything her father now stood for. _

_It was during one of these secret "missions," as she used to think of them, that she had come upon the boy. Ariel knew that staying in Atlantica was risky if it was her intention to actually interact with a human, so she'd swum through the secret channels that connected the realms' various bodies of water and ended up at the very edge of Driscoll River. It was there she'd met David. He was a handsome young boy, a farmer's son, who had chased one of his runaway sheep to the riverbank. She hadn't planned on revealing herself at all; she merely wanted to watch. But when the lamb got its hoof caught up in a tangle of branches that then got swept away by the current, Ariel saw the young boy jump into the river to save the fluffy little creature, evidencing a kindness that was, as Ariel always suspected, a direct contrast to the impression of humans she'd been given to swallow by her father. In the end, Ariel helped young David save the little lamb and the two of them became fast friends. _

_Ariel and David were inseparable for the better parts of almost three summers. Nearly every day (when her kingdom wasn't otherwise preparing for this or that festival), Ariel evaded her sisters and tutors and swam for the small town of Driscoll which lay just on the outskirts of King George's kingdom. She taught him to swim, to fish and sing. He taught her about fire, about dirt roads and farming and even helped her identify objects she'd salvaged on the ocean floor. But eventually, Triton caught on to her continued absences from court and discovered her secret escapades. His reaction was…not what one might call "understanding," and he subsequently destroyed the channels that led into the east realm. _

_Thankfully, Triton remained ignorant of David, but still, the "damage" had been done. From then on, Ariel was more than intrigued by humanity; she was obsessed. How, for example, was she supposed to focus on yet another jubilee when there was so much of David's world she longed to know? Why must she keep training and rehearsing with the court musicians to perfect her voice when she felt she had more in common with a human farm boy than any merman who had ever come to sing for her? Nevertheless, following the discovery of her travels, Triton worked in a sort of frenzied rush to keep his youngest daughter quite busy, and, if possible, married and settled at last. To that end, Atlantica had been host to no less than six jubilees this year alone, during which all but one of his daughters had revealed their songs and secured betrothals._

"_You're sadly fooling yourself, little sister," said Arista as they swam from the concert hall. "There's no way Daddy will excuse you from this one. It's practically in your honor."_

"_For my benefit, you mean," Ariel scoffed as they sailed past two armed guards posted near the golden spires of the palace gate, one of whom upon seeing Ariel, immediately started humming. She ignored him. _

"_Can you blame him? Five concerts in the past year, all attended by some of the noblest the Eleven Seas have to offer and not a merman among them has even come close to your song."_

_All mermaids had beautiful voices, but what was little known to those outside of the mer-world was just how essential those voices were to their underwater community. Mermaids were distant relatives of sirens in that their voices were powerful instruments, capable not only of making some of the most beautiful music ever to be heard by all the realms, but of wielding a very special kind of magic in their singing. But while a siren's song is one of temptation and deceit, a mermaid's song is a song of love, and as she matures, so does her song until she is of age to find a match. At that point, a mermaid can find her mate by discovering he who shares her song. So the grand festivals beneath the surface, that sometimes carry on for weeks and fill the ocean floor with music, were far more than mere performances of cantatas and symphonies, but celebrations of love – glorified mating season really, where over the years, all but one of Triton's daughters had already found suitable husbands._

_Ariel recalled once trying to explain this aspect of their culture to a very confused David:_

"You mean…you only know ONE song?" _he'd said, wrinkling his nose as he thought of the dozens of songs known and sung throughout his own village during the harvest and solstice festivals._

"No," _Ariel had laughed, _"We know many many melodies. Many songs. But beyond common tunes, each mermaid also holds a special song in her heart – a melody only she can choose to reveal if and when she finds a merman whose harmony matches her own."

_The notion, David had supposed, might have struck his mother as exceedingly romantic, but his sensible brain found this rather foolish. _"Then what's to stop a mermaid from choosing _not _to reveal her song?" _he'd asked as Ariel had helped him fasten a special type of bait to his fishing rod that she'd found for him on the ocean floor– tackle that would lure a decent catch for a change._ "I mean, what if you don't even _like _the poor guy who knows your harmony?"

_At the time, Ariel had laughed at such an absurd idea. What could possibly be gained by a mermaid's refusing to reveal the melody that matched her mate's? After all, by that point, three of her sisters had already confirmed what she'd always been told about this reportedly magical moment: the moment of hearing that perfect harmony. If two souls were destined to be together, the female would hear it first in the male's song. She would hear it thrumming in her heart; the search for a perfect mate would be complete and the couple's hearts fulfilled. _

_Of course, as the years went on and Ariel's obsession with the human world grew, she often wondered if she might ever be tempted to act so deceitfully – to purposefully deny a merman that moment. Indeed, Triton himself was becoming convinced that Ariel was doing just that and consequently watched her more and more carefully at every jubilee. However, nothing could be further than the truth. In fact, given Ariel's fascination with the human world, she'd conceded (on her more rational days) that finding a mate would at least be a distraction enough from a passion she would never be allowed to truly embrace. But in all the concerts, receptions and festivities given, no merman had ever sung her song._

"_You don't need to remind me of that, Arista," Ariel now snapped at her old sister as they entered the Atlantian palace, passing by two enormous pillars carved in the likeness of their father's trident. "Daddy mentions it on every possible occasion. In fact, I'm quickly developing a reputation for being our royal line's first permanently _solo_ act!"_

_Arista snorted a laugh and swatted away the bubbles from her nose. "I don't believe it's as dramatic as all _that_," she placed a hand on her sister's shoulder and stopped her from entering her private grotto. "But Ariel," she hesitated, feeling awkward. "Are you…are you quite _sure _you haven't—"_

"_Ugchk!" Ariel shrieked in frustration, pulling at some stray seaweed that had tangled itself in her red hair. "Not you too! I have a hard enough time convincing Daddy, Arista. Please. I _promise _I've never _heard _a merman sing my song. What could I gain by it? Aren't _you _the one always telling me when it happens, the pull will be so strong, I'll have no wish to deny him?"_

"_Well, yes but—"_

"_But what?"_

_Arista sighed. She so longed for her sister to find true love, to be happy like the rest of them and free from the constant pestering of their father. Like the rest of her pod, Arista agreed that the excitement and happiness that would come of Ariel's engagement to a noble merman would be a welcome distraction from that which they all knew their youngest sister craved the most: a turn on the surface. Then again, Arista thought ruefully, had their father _ever _simply acquiesced to his daughter's desires and given her that which she most wanted, she might have gotten this ridiculous urge to be around humans well out of her system by now. After all, Arista's own curiosity had been more than satisfied when she'd been granted, as was originally their custom, three months of living in the human world upon the eve of her 16__th__ birthday. It was tradition that mermaids of royal blood be allowed to see and experience first-hand the customs and lifestyles of the landfolk with whom they must share their realms. Ariel wanted nothing less than that which her sisters had already enjoyed. But their father wouldn't hear of it._

_Of course, intellectually, even Ariel understood why. King Triton had never properly dealt with his grief over the loss of his wife when, on a murky day beset by an eerie stillness in the air and a thick fog settling over the ocean surface, Ariel's mother, Queen Anya, had happened upon a pod of dolphins entangled in the harbor ties of an abandoned fishermen's wharf. She had just freed the last of them when a whaling ship peeked through the fog, its captain a cruel, vicious man hell-bent on destroying one of the ocean's most majestic creatures. The crazed captain turned his ire on Atlantica's queen and had speared her gorgeous aquamarine fin twice before she was able to escape. As she sank down through the ocean's depths however, they caught her up in a net and hauled her back out of the sea, dragging her up the side of their boat where the sharp point of the ship's bow pierced her side. Realizing far too late who it was they had captured, the captain let her go and sped away as quickly as his ship could carry him. Anya managed to make it back to Atlantica, but her injuries by then were far too severe and she died in her husband's arms._

_ Ariel was nine at the time, and still a tiny thing at that. Therefore she'd been spared the gruesome sight of her mother's injuries, and in time, her own memories of her mother faded. But she'd been told the story so often as justification for her father's ban on all contact with the human world that she felt a part of the story was ingrained in her own soul. She loved her daddy, with all her heart, but Ariel was level-headed enough to know that the actions of a few individuals should not color one's impression of an entire species of beings. After all, how could a world that made such wonderful things…be so bad?_

_ "I just…worry about you," Arista finally responded as the two of them resumed their swim toward Ariel's grotto. "I know you would never _willfully _deny a suitor, but…when they do sing to you, Ariel, when a merman treads before you and pours out his soul, I…I do wonder."_

_ Ariel crossed her arms over her chest and turned up her nose, not at all liking the implication in Arista's tone. "Wonder what?"_

_ Her sister offered a weak smile, "I wonder if you're even listening."_

_ Ariel did not respond, merely glared at the blonde princess before her, flicked her tail forward to propel her back, then slipped through the entrance of her chamber without another word. __Alone in her grotto, Ariel paced back and forth, swishing her tail furiously against an unusually strong undercurrent as she wallowed in frustration. Her sister meant well; Ariel knew that. But she had to admit to being a bit unhinged by Arista's suggestion. Sure, it irked her to have her honor as a princess questioned yet again by a member of her family. However, what bothered her more was the distinct possibility that Arista might actually be…well, right._

_Ariel couldn't honestly even remember the _names_ of the last four nobleman who'd come to sing for her, let alone their songs. The musical jubilees were so much a part of the routine now that hearing potential suitors belting out their arias felt more like a chore than an ancient, romantic ritual. Was it true? Was it possible? Was she indeed, as Arista suggested, not even listening anymore?_

_ Stewing in her cavern, Ariel plucked one the treasures she'd salvaged from a shipwreck earlier that week – one small enough not to have to store in her secret trove of human artifacts that, thankfully, her father _hadn't_ discovered. It was an odd, pointy, three-pronged device that looked a little like a very small version of Triton's trident, but she distinctly remembered David using such a device one day as a utensil for eating. She was about to test the device on a plate of plankton and algae that Dory, her palace attendant, had left for supper, when the light inside her grotto dimmed and darkness descended on her cave. _

_ Ariel glanced up. _Whadyou suppose…? _she asked herself as she started at the unusually dark shadow cast over the moon's radiant light. Even in the far depths of the ocean floor, the moonlight always had an effervescent glow in Atlantica, its light amplified by the abounding reflective surfaces, spires and riches of the kingdom. It had been some time since she'd seen it so eclipsed, but very quickly realized what the source must be: a ship – a human ship!_

_She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by the presence of human vessels once more on the surface above Atlantica. Following the defeat of the Snow Queen, the shallow waters had thawed and the seaside kingdom of Lochmere had begun a restoration of sorts. She had heard, from the scuttlebutt on the East Atlantian current, rumors of an impending celebration heralding the appointment of Lochmere's new prince, Eric of Kincanaan. Such news was not seen as terribly important of course with her father's edict that merfolk swim no closer than 1500 meters from the ocean's surface. In fact, though she knew he'd never admit it, Ariel firmly believed a part of Triton might have been perfectly content with the Snow Queen's tyrannical rule over Lochmere. Though the frost plagued the ocean's surface and made life uncomfortably cold for many in their underwater kingdom, she knew Triton would have much preferred the permanence of an actual physical barrier conveniently holding Ariel's curiosity at bay. Nevertheless, her father's reticence had never stopped her from keeping an ear to the ocean floor about all matters concerning the town. Lochmere was, after all, the human village in which all her sisters had had the opportunity to live. She just hadn't realized that the coronation ship would be sailing _directly _above Atlantica Palace!_

_Unable to contain her excitement any longer over the prospect of so many humans in such close proximity, Ariel abandoned all thoughts of the jubilee (for which she'd just spent hours with Arista and Sebastian rehearsing) and swam immediately for the surface. She'd seen the remains of hundreds of shipwrecks before but never had the opportunity of seeing one bigger than David's fishing skiff that was actually afloat! Surely she could spare a peek before anyone missed her below. Once her head broke the ocean's surface, however, she knew she would need _much _more than a peek. _

_It seemed to be a special ship, specifically designed for such large scale celebrations as the appointment of a new prince and the elevation of Lochmere to the status of 'kingdom'. At first, the little mermaid was overcome with excitement by the exuberant band on board, playing instruments that could make sounds she was unaccustomed to hearing as they were contraptions that would have made no sound under the waves. She treaded in awe as she watched burly men dressed in blue striped shirts and red caps launch huge rockets into the air that then exploded with dazzling colors, trickling down in glorious haloes around the ship. The aromas of heated meats and fish, fish that down below they just ate raw, assailed her nostrils to a practically intoxicating effect. But despite all the excitement surrounding the affair, Ariel soon sensed a presence near the bow of the ship, away from the main deck where most of the party was taking place. _

_Standing near the mast was a handsome young man, looking rather sad as his grey-green eyes scanned the vast ocean. He was quite separated from the merriment and looked almost bored with all the pomp and circumstance to his rear. Hesitating only a moment more, Ariel climbed quietly up the side of the boat, settling into one of the smaller boats strung to its hull. There she watched him, enraptured by his quiet countenance, the way he seemed to be breathing in the sea, the salt in the air, the spray of the tide crashing against the ship. A woman with long dark hair approached him at one point, enjoining him to return to the party, but he graciously declined and sent her back alone, insisting that this was Lochmere's time to rejoice, not his. The woman went back in a pout and Ariel found she was quite glad to see her leave without him. He seemed taller than David (though Ariel would have no way of knowing by now that David himself had grown quite tall in the years since she'd seen him). His voice was deeper, almost melodic when he'd declined the young woman's invitation. His hair was also much darker than David's – almost black, though the light of the moon gave his unruly waves a sort of silvery hue. It was obvious to Ariel that this was a man of some importance, signified not only by the opulence of his dress but by the way people kept coming in ones and twos as the woman had, trying to draw him back to the celebration. At one point, an elderly gentleman who seemed to at least share a degree of familiarity with the young man that others did not, chastised him the way a father might berate a child for being so taciturn. But still, he remained at the mast, and for a while it seemed that he might stand there all night, stiff as a statue. And then it happened. _

_Suddenly, and checking first that no one else was coming, the young man pulled from his cloak a strange-looking instrument. It had the appearance of a large golden seashell but it was smooth with strange little holes all around it like an elaborate flute. Later, Ariel would learn it was called an ocarina, just as she would learn the young man was actually Prince Eric himself and that the ocarina had been a parting gift from his mother before he'd left Kincanaan. But for now, Ariel just watched in awe as the young stranger brought the instrument to his lips, positioned his fingers delicately, and blew. It was a tender little lullaby, a haunting song, accompanied by the whistling wind lifting from the waves. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the sounds of the ocean joined in with the man's lovely tune and filled Ariel's soul with a melody of almost symphonic proportions. The handsome young man quietly played on and she listened with a vibrancy in her heart she did not recognize. A stirring of emotions for which she had no reference, no context. What in the Great Eleven Seas was happening to her? The tune soon swept the rest of the world away until it seemed that he and Ariel were the only two souls left. Yes, it was beautiful song, a magical song. And before it was over, Ariel at last realized…it was _her_ song…_

Belle shook her head sadly at the frightened, mute man now cowering in the corner of the far cell, arms wrapped around his knees as his head darted from side to side. "So Ariel fell in love with Eric's…music?" she murmured, trying to make sense of the obviously complex magic that drew the pair together. She had heard, when news of Eric's marriage to a former mermaid had reached Ebonshire, the abbreviated version of their tale: Triton's dislike of humans, Ariel's bargain with Ursula, Eric's defeat of the sea witch. But she hadn't realized how inexorably the two were linked from the very beginning.

James frowned as he held tightly to the bars that caged him, also looking down on the young prince. "Sort of," he said. "They _found _each other through their music – this…shared song of theirs. Like I said, it's hard to explain. In fact, when Ariel first told me of it, I didn't understand either. But it made sense to them and that's all that mattered."

"And…" she gestured downward, "his hearing. You think—"

"The cruelest twist of this curse yet, if you ask me," James muttered, scowling up in the direction of the large metal door atop the cell block stairs. "There was a lightning storm that night. Violent one too, and it split the ship in half. Everyone made it off safely, thank the Gods, but Eric went back for Max."

"Max?"

"His dog."

"What happened?" asked a meek voice from across the cell block, and James started as he looked up at Dawn Charles, just as engrossed in the story now as Belle. James offered her a small smile as her interest in such "tall" tales had to be a good sign.

He glanced down again at Eric. "He freed Max just as the powder magazine ignited. He was thrown from the ship, unconscious, and would have drowned had Ariel not rescued him."

"Goodness," Belle whispered, covering her hand over her mouth. Dawn's jaw just dropped.

"Ariel brought him to shore and…well, she sang to him. Coaxed him back to consciousness with her voice. From that moment, their destinies were permanently intertwined." James turned back to Belle and sighed. "Even Triton knew it…on _some_ level anyway. Regardless of how hard he fought initially to keep them apart."

Belle swallowed hard, looking down at Eric. "And now…he can't hear."

He nodded. "Which means he can't hear her sing." He looked over to Aurora. "You said he works over at the docks?"

Dawn nodded. "He's a kind of…city janitor I guess. Does maintenance and odd jobs for a lot of those businesses along the lakeshore."

James shook his head. "Probably emptied trash from the very club she sings at and never knew it."

Belle sighed, wrapping her arms around her middle as the cell block fell silent. Something gnawed at the back of her brain, something she couldn't quite wrap her head around. James had been on to something before, something crucial – she could feel it. They were definitely being held for a reason, as leverage against their loved ones – that much Ursula had practically confessed with her taunt: _"Four out of six ain't bad, eh Sugarlips?"_ Four out of six. Four out of six _what_? What were they missing? "Why us?" she whispered the last question aloud, and James turned.

"What?"

Belle faced him. "Why _us_? Why us, specifically?" She gestured across the block to the other prisoners. "Prince of Lochmere, Princess of Rosebriar _and _Queen of Braemar." She drew her hand back and held it to her breast, "Ebonshire, New Gaia. And," she looked hastily toward the empty cell in the far corner with the cradle, "if you're right, Seven Gales."

"Plus one more," James nodded to the empty cell beside his in their row. "And it _was _Ursula who captured Eric. Which brings Atlantica into the mix."

Belle shook her head and started pacing. "Rosebriar, Braemar, Lochmere, Atlantica, Ebonshire, Seven Gales and New Gaia," she murmured to herself. James stood patiently, glancing between her and Dawn whose hands were clasped tightly to her bars, listening intently. "Braemar, Lochmere…" Belle started again, then shook her head. "No…Braemar, _Atlantica_, Ebonshire…"she paused and looked up at James, "New Gaia…Seven Gales."

"Belle?"

"Shh! I'm thinking," Belle squeezed her eyes shut. "Braemar, Atlantica, Ebonshire, New Gaia, Seven Gales—" her head shot up suddenly and she glanced past James to the empty cell. "And _Agrabah_," she gasped. "That cell is for Aladdin, I'm sure of it!"

James did a double take between her and the empty cell then shook his head with confusion. "How do you figure that?"

"Leverage," she said quickly, "like you said. Captured to be used _against_ our loved ones. Which means _they're _the ones Regina really wants. She must need something from them. Something that will fix whatever we've threatened of her curse in waking everyone up."

James's brow still furrowed. "Yes, but why do you say Agrabah?"

"_Because_," she huffed, hands shaking with near excitement. "Braemar, Atlantica, Ebonshire, New Gaia, Seven Gales and Agrabah – six kingdoms, three realms and all with one thing in common."

"What?!" James implored her. Was this what it felt like to be Emma?

"Helios," she grinned.

This time it was Dawn who gasped. "Helios?! Who is _Helios_?!"

Belle turned to her without missing a beat. "A very powerful mage. Practically a God. He's part of a race of beings who used to rule our world. Gods who—"

"_Disappeared_, Belle," James insisted. "What could Helios possibly have to do with—"

"He appeared to me once, James. Remember? On the day we—" she paused and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "On the day Adam defeated Circe's curse."

"So?"

"_So, _appearances by Helios are rare – nearly impossible to track down. Only a few dozen sightings had ever been documented in over two centuries' worth of history from our world," Belle continued her explanation, completely undeterred by the utterly flummoxed Prince James. "Those six kingdoms: Braemar, Atlantica, Ebonshire, New Gaia, Seven Gales, Agrabah," she rattled them off again, even faster than before, as if they were a series she'd recited as a schoolgirl and had remembered ever since. "They're the only six lands Helios is ever reported to have visited. And _always _in the wake of some incredible magic: Adam's transformation, defeat of the Snow Queen—"

"How do you _know _all this?" James asked, sweeping his palm over his brow.

Belle started, glanced at her friend, and blinked. "I read," she said.

Her matter-of-fact tone hung in the air, and soon James chuckled, feeling quite rebuked though he was sure that wasn't her intention. Of _course _she would know everything there was to know about Helios. Knowing Belle, she would have snatched up every book ever printed about the ancient gods following her encounter with the legendary mage. Reading. Even _this _world had gotten that part right.

Finally, James glanced back down at Eric and Dawn. "Well, whether or not _Regina _is smart enough to have put that together, she must be getting desperate if she's kidnapping people who aren't even _awake _yet."

Dawn glanced down, biting her lip. As ridiculous as all of this sounded to the young nurse, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy toward the degrees of confidence and certainty with which David Nolan and Rose French were speaking. Even if it meant she was crazy too, it would be nice to have a clue what they were talking about, if only she could keep up. "By awake," she gulped, treading cautiously into the conversation. "You mean—"

"Free of the curse, Dawn," Belle said kindly. "Remembering your real past."

Dawn looked up at David –or, er – James. "And um…h-how does one…I mean, how would—" she paused and looked to Charlie, still cowering from them in the corner. "How can _I _wake up?"

James offered a sad sort of smile. "By getting your happy ending."

Dawn sighed and sank back on her haunches, thinking instantly of Trent.

"We need to get out of here," James muttered, turning back to Belle. "We need to _do _something."

"Like what?" asked Belle.

"I don't know," he huffed, grasping his bars and rattling his cage. "_Anything._ Find some way to warn them. Warn Philip. Warn Ariel, or—" he whipped his head around and glared back at Dawn.

The nurse jumped. "What?" she asked, nervously.

"Dawn, what did you say you heard before?" he asked.

Dawn stood and backed away from the bars, clutching the round egg tightly in her grasp behind her back. "W-whadya mean?"

"That device you're holding," James said softly, reaching out through the bars. "You asked us if we'd heard something."

She glanced away, having half hoped they would have forgotten about all that with the arrival of Charlie. Honestly, hearing voices? Something told her even _these _people might think she was nuts. She looked up again, but David Nolan's eyes, while searching, were not judgmental. Slowly she drew the egg forward and stepped back to the bars. "I-it hasn't happened again. I haven't heard anything more."

"But you did before?" James reached his palm across the aisle, though they were a bit too far apart to touch hands.

"I – I thought—" she looked to Rose, who also nodded, encouraging her to continue. "It's crazy, but I thought I h-heard a friend of mine. Trent Davis. He—" she paused again, dropped her gaze and gulped. "He was with me before I was taken."

James flicked his wrist lightly in the air, enjoining her to hand it over. "May I see it?" he asked gently.

Dawn was barely aware of how fiercely she was clutching the strange thing to her chest until she glanced down at her nearly white knuckles. Her instinct was to say no, to hold onto it for dear life – her only connection to something familiar, something safe. Then Maeve's voice reminded her: _"They're gonna take you now, but you'll be with friends. Trust them."_

At last, she nodded and lightly tossed the egg across the cell block.

Belle let out a small gasp as the device sailed through the air, afraid he might drop it, but it landed safely in the palm of James's hand.

James wrapped his fingers around the egg and drew it threw the bars, inspecting the surprisingly smooth surface of green and silver flecks. "Interesting," he murmured aloud.

"Do you know what it is?" Belle asked.

He palmed the weight, passing it between his hands then closed both palms around it tightly. "I think so. Grumpy described something like this once. I think it's—"

Suddenly the once dormant speckles began to glow, then shined so brightly that streaks of green light bled right through the cracks between his fingers.

"James?!" Belle yelled, but the prince didn't respond. He was blinded by the light, engulfed by it. In an instant, James felt himself being yanked upward. Then his world flashed white.

…

Adam's only lead in leaving 'Rose's' house was the old man's mention of a shipment being loaded down by the "docks." But knowing Gaston, this was probably furthest from the truth to where the brute intended on taking her. He would search the docks, certainly. If it came to that. But Gaston Saoul was hardly the brightest hunter in the world, and Adam knew he likely would have taken Belle one of two places: his bar or his house. The bar, he'd ruled out with a quick search of the place, shoving inside the crowded club where dozens of drifters and wanderers from in and around West End had ducked in from the snow. Several were speaking in hushed and panicky tones, and Adam caught some talk of what they'd all just seen in the mirrors behind the bar. But there was equal number of assurances that they'd all had just a few too many drinks as there was genuine panic, and Adam was too focused to spend any time gaging how many of these cursed souls around him would turn into legitimate threats.

There was a big, scruffy man with wildly unkempt facial hair tending the bar whom he asked about 'Jack Hunter's' whereabouts. The man shrugged, muttered that it was only his second day on the job, and suggested Adam take a look in the back if he had a problem. Adam hadn't found Gaston of course, but had found a pile of deposit slips and bank records listing 'Jack Hunter's' home address.

Immediately, Adam headed back towards town, trudging through the snow on foot, still dressed in his set of blue hospital scrubs and black, flowing overcoat, ignoring the honking cars and jeering passengers sailing past him in those automated vehicles he still didn't understand. He knew well enough how to read a map though, and soon found himself stalking up the cobbled walkway to Jack Hunter's front door.

Belle had warned him there were many things about this world that he didn't understand – customs that would need to be obeyed, social mores heeded. For Belle, he'd been prepared to learn, obey and heed them. He would offer no such consideration for Gaston, and he promptly kicked in the bastard's door without preamble. "Gaston!" he roared through the dimly lit house, the very windows shaking upon his entrance. He sniffed the air, attuning his latent senses to the environment around him, remembering as if it were yesterday the potent and pungent odors of fear and possession that assailed his nostrils on the eve of his wedding – those that had him tearing through the castle and catching Gaston in the most unspeakable act of trying to ruin his wife. Thomas and James had been there to stop him that day. He would have no such interference tonight. "Show yourself, coward!" he called, stomping through the sitting room, stumbling against the brown leather ottoman and then kicking it out of the way. "I know you're here—"

As he approached the archway leading into the kitchen, a blunt object descended towards his head from the darkened hallway and struck Adam a mighty blow. A ceramic lamp promptly split into dozens of pieces and crashed toward the floor. Blood trickled from Adam's temple, though he barely stopped to notice as he grabbed Gaston's wrist, yanked it down to his side, then hooked his left hand into a fist and leveled a bone-crunching punch at the bartender's jaw. "Gah!" Gaston spit blood at the kitchen floor, then wiped his dripping nose. "Fuck!" he growled before advancing toward Adam again, this time trying to lamely land punches and kicks at his opponent's side and torso – attacks Adam expertly deflected, though it moved him back into the sitting room, putting several feet between him and Gaston.

"Once a beast, always a beast, eh your _High_ness!" Gaston cackled, retreating back to his kitchen where lay a wooden block full of knives dangerously close by. "Guess that's why Belle came to _me_ after all," he laughed, seizing the black handle of the thickest knife in the block from its groove.

Adam was undeterred. The tavern-keeper smelled of cheap brandy, grease and tobacco. His eyes were bloodshot and his face sallow. A cruel smile spread across Adam's face as he thought up a reply: _Once a drunk, always a drunk. _But he kept it to himself. The man wasn't worth the oxygen it would expend to utter the words. Swiftly, Adam crossed the room, upended a kitchen chair and hefted it over his head, hurling it down on a yelping Gaston. The brute screamed, throwing his arms up in front of his face as the cheap chair came crumbling down around him, completely forgetting that he was holding the knife, the tip of which nicked his cheek as he ducked. "Son of a bitch!" he muttered, dodging Adam's second sweep with the chair and skirting around him to the back hallway. Once he'd reestablished his footing, he also regained his foolishly naïve bravado: "Still in _love_ with her, Beast?" he laughed as he stumbled back against his bedroom door, reached for the handle behind him and twisted. "Did you honestly think she'd still want _you_…after she'd had _me_?"

Gaston backed into his bedroom where he knew lay the Springfield rifle he typically reserved for stray gophers, raccoons and…_other _unwanted visitors, mentally kicking himself for not having it locked and loaded before. But Adam's hand closed around his wrist before he'd fully crossed the threshold.

"I should've killed you when I had the chance," growled the prince, closing his grip so tightly, Gaston thought his wrist might actually snap. And then…it did.

The bartender screamed in pain, collapsing to his knees before the heir of Ebonshire. It was a gut-wrenching cry, a piercing screech that ought to have inspired at least some sympathy, even in the most hardened of souls – except Adam had endured just about all he could take of this world and his own psyche bordered so close to the edge of insanity now that he seemed determined to channel every spiraling, seething bit of hatred for what had been done to him and his wife through his iron-clad grip he had on this bastard's arm.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip you apart," he bellowed over Gaston's agonizing screams.

"Because if you do, Belle will never forgive you," came a low, smoky voice behind them.

Adam whirled around, his fingers still locked on Gaston's wrist which twisted the brute's body upward as he turned. He supposed he shouldn't at all be shocked to find it was _she _who pulled Gaston's strings, though the lack of surprise did little to quell the utter revulsion coursing through an already broiling temper as his eyes fell upon Circe. "Don't you _dare_ speak her name," his voice rumbled as his eyes focused on the still stunningly beautiful sorceress standing at the end of the hallway, the first hint of morning light surrounding her like a halo (the image of course in stark contrast to the harbinger of evil her mere presence here portended).

The two stared at each other, each mentally recounting their history and its role in his fate within the curse. In fact, the last memories Adam had of Circe were not of their days of battle upon Bierden Ridge but of her blasted voice, whispering vulgar thoughts in his ear as he pretended to remain sedated under the watchful eye of who knows how many villains at his bedside at Storybrooke General.

After a time, Adam finally noticed that Gaston was still whimpering at his heels, tears streaming down his face as he tried to wriggle his broken wrist out of the prince's grasp. Adam reached down, seized him at the back of the neck and slammed his forehead against the brass doorknob, knocking him out completely.

Circe glanced down at her lackey and grinned. "Nicely done. Wouldn't want you turning into a killer, champion."

"I am _not _your champion," Adam started toward her, but she held her palm out in front of her, enjoining him to stop, and though she exerted no supernatural forces at the moment to hold him at bay, he felt compelled to halt in his tracks. The woman obviously knew something about Belle. He couldn't very well rip her to shreds too…yet. "Where is she?"

"Safe," Circe replied, raising an eyebrow as her gaze swept over his form. "For now." She sighed and tsked, shaking her head in pity as she beheld her beloved stallion standing before her in cheap cotton hospital attire and an ill-fitting coat. "Dear me," she chuckled as she stepped slowly into the front sitting room, nodding for her to follow him. "Your precious bookworm couldn't do better than this?"

Adam's nails dug into his palms as he grappled with his temper. "I _told _you not to—"

"Speak her _name_," she said. "And I haven't. As I'd hoped you would have noticed, my love."

The endearment itself bordered on treachery and drew another hissing breath from the prince as he advanced slowly into the room, circling around to the fireplace so that 'Jack Hunter's' brown leather couch lay between them. "_Where _did you—"

"Wait just a moment," Circe smiled, her eyes crinkling with delight as she raised her arms in front of her and gave the air a delicate wave. Wind began to whistle through the house, though no doors or windows were opened, and before Adam could object, he found himself caught up in the whirlwind, the garments clinging to his body shifting and reforming as he fought against being lifted from the floor. The enchantment was swift and Adam was plopped back to the ground almost as soon as it had begun, but his entire wardrobe had transformed. Instead of hospital scrubs, he was clad instead in dark grey slacks tucked inside an admittedly comfortable pair of black boots. On top he wore a sleek, black leather duster over a white long-sleeved tunic; a ridiculous, wide-brimmed hat with a white feather sticking out the top completed the ensemble.

Circe stepped back to admire her handiwork as Adam disconcertedly patted down the new attire he'd been forced into. "Much better," she sighed, licking her lips. At the same moment, Adam glanced up, tore off the hat and threw it at her.

"I see you've regained your ability to conjure," he spat as the hat went sailing by her and he moved on to the coat, shrugging it off and throwing it to the floor. "Change it back."

"Oh, come now," she purred as she started to circle around him, movement he mimicked so that they remained equidistant apart, caught up in what looked to be a precarious dance. "Surely these are more…comfortable."

"Enough games, Circe!" Adam bellowed. "Where. Is. Belle?!"

"As I said, she is safe."

"That's not an answer."

"It is if you want her to _remain_ so," she chuckled, her not-so-subtle warning arresting them both.

"What do you want from her?" he asked, his voice slightly softer, a hint of pleading in his otherwise snarly growl.

"Oh it's not what we want from _her,_ darling." She took a few steps forward, the heels of her stilettos clacking across the floor as her long, flowing, black gown billowed out with each sway of her hips. "It's what we need from _you_."

"And that is?" he barked.

Circe stopped directly in front of him and inhaled slowly through her nose, as if his scent were a drug to her. _So long_, she thought deliciously. So long since she'd stood before him like this, basking in the midst of such massive power and strength. "As I understand it, your father died while you were on the front lines of the goblin wars," she hummed, drawing her slender hand along his chest as she circled him. "While you were…with me," she grinned.

Every muscle in Adam's body tensed as she touched him, but this time he remained still. He _must _control his temper. For Belle's sake. "What of it?" he rumbled.

"And your mother? Died in childbirth?" she said sweetly as she came round the other side.

"What the hell does this have to do with _anything_, Circe?" he yelled.

"A great deal, I'm afraid," she sighed, settling in front of him. "You see, because of your parents' deaths, you remain the sole sovereign of Ebonshire. Which meant you inherited, by default, the protection of all magic in your realm."

Adam's mouth hung open slightly as he furrowed his brow. "What?!"

Circe chuckled, taking a step forward and settling her palm against the rough stubble across his cheek. "Oh I hardly expect that you would know of it. After all, you delayed your coronation almost a full year. And," she added, letting her hand now slide away from his cheek as she retreated back a few paces, "one could hardly blame you for that, of course—"

"You've got some nerve, wench," he seethed through gritted teeth. "Since _your _curse forced me into hiding from my own people—"

"Yes yes, ancient history," she laughed with a casual wave. "But now I'm afraid your friends' obsession with returning to their old, dreary lives has forced our hand." She turned from him, inspecting one perfectly manicured hand as she tilted her head thoughtfully to the side. "So we'll be needing your to relinquish the guardianship of your realm's magic."

Adam opened his mouth in outrage, then quickly snapped it shut. "I see," he said in a fierce whisper, already guessing where this conversation was leading. "And I suppose in exchange you'll just…let Belle go."

Circe turned. "Isn't that how this sort of thing usually works?" she smirked.

"No," Adam barked, advancing on her now with such blatant hostility that she actually cowered backward in mild shock. "In fact, this sort of _thing _usually ends with vermin like you breaking their deals and killing innocent people anyway for their own amusement. And I know _personally _how much you would like nothing more than to see _my _love tortured at the hands of that demonic megalomaniac from New Gaia!"

Circe held her hand up to stop him, intent on maintaining control of the negotiations, though she couldn't help the carnal longing thrumming through her as he asserted himself. Such a masterful specimen! "Yes, I'm afraid Regina isn't known for keeping her word," she conceded, clearing her throat, then leveling her gaze. "_I _on the other hand…am." Adam scoffed and crossed his arms, but didn't reply. Circe grinned. She was again, in control. "When your forces cornered mine at Bierden Ridge, did I not promise to withdraw _all _my legions from your realm if you granted me an audience?"

Adam arched an eyebrow. "Some people call that terms of _surrender._"

"And did I not ensure you and all of your troops safe passage back to Ebonshire despite the hundreds of goblins I'd recalled to Thrinacia?"

The prince actually laughed. "Don't you mean dozens? The handful or so my forces _didn't _slaughter—"

"Dozens, yes," Circe's lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. "And why not? They'd served their purpose after all…I'd found my champion."

It was a few, seemingly endless moments before the weight of the goddess's taunt fully sunk in. Then his eyes went wide as his jaw dropped. "Are you telling me…" he growled, heavy, violent breaths between each word, "you unleashed an army of deadly beasts…on thousands of innocent people…to find yourself _one…_man?"

"Not just any man," she crooned, reaching out to stroke the fine strands of his wild hair. "You. My love—"

"Demon!" Adam bellowed, seizing her by the throat and backing her all the way to Gaston's front door. "Murderess!"

But Adam's grip around her throat did little to affect the crazed, enamored gaze in her eyes. She reached up and clasped one hand around his own, stroking the other up the length of his arm. "You were the bravest, most violent, _masterful_ specimen I'd ever seen, Adam. Never, not since Odysseus, had I witnessed such cunning, such a potent blend of brutish violence and matchless intellect. I knew with you by my side, I would finally have enough power to escape Thrinacia and _together _we could rule the world."

"Mad!" he seethed, squeezing tighter, "You're raving mad!"

Circe tightened her own grip and with equal strength pried his fingers from her neck. "Mad, yes!" her black gaze bore into his. "Incensed actually, when you denied my offer and refused to consummate what should have been the most indomitable union our world had ever _seen_!" She threw him off of her, and he staggered back, panting now as he fought for control of his ire. "So I punished you," she spat, moving them back into the room. "Sent you back to your wretched kingdom with one final test I was _sure _you'd fail. Imagine my surprise when I learned you actually got that book-loving harpy to love a beast!"

"I swear to the gods, I will make you pay. You will _pay _for the lives you spent, Circe. For the lives you _wasted_!"

But Circe just laughed as she adjusted the red, silk scarf Adam's grip had disheveled. "Really Adam? Fretting over the lives of people who have been dead for over 30 years? And here I thought you wanted to save your wife."

"I'm fairly sure I can save Belle without _you_!"

"Yes, but will either of you be able to save…your son?"

The blood boiling in his veins turned to ice, and for the first time since his escape from the hospital, an ocean of fear tumbled over him in unbearable waves. "M-my son?"

"Your unborn child Adam?" Circe tsked. "Surely you haven't forgotten about him," she said. "His coming foretold in the stars? Prophesied by Helios himself? Why, he's destined to be stronger and more powerful even than you, isn't he?"

Adam felt his throat constricting as if someone were slowly suffocating him, though Circe now stood across the room. His mind flashed back to that fateful day on the veranda, the day Belle had returned to the castle and revived him, curing him of her curse: _"Be on your guard," _Helios had warned them both. "_Circe may yet one day prevail…and she is very…very…patient." _

"_What did he mean by that?" Adam finally turned to his beloved, "'She's very very patient?'"_

_Belle shook her head, still glaring out on the darkened horizon. "He means we must always be on our guard," she whispered quietly. "And not only for us," she gulped and then finally looked to her prince, "but for our children…"_

"For our children," Adam echoed barely above a whisper, shaking his head in fervent denial. But Helios's warning was coming true before his very eyes. "No," he rasped, backing up and sinking down into the sofa. "You can't…you couldn't possibly—"

Circe sighed, for the first time regarding him with a mixture of pity and even disgust. Surely her champion wouldn't crumple before her in whimpering sobs! "As it turns out," she started around the couch, "I no longer need your help or power to escape Thrinacia. Regina's curse took care of that for me, and for that I agreed to bide my time awhile and help her with her curse. The trouble is," she settled behind him, "_this_ world somewhat limits my power. One of the drawbacks of settling in a world without magic." She laid her hands at the back of his neck, then smoothed her palms over his shoulders as she bent her head to his ear. "I have every intention of one day reclaiming my place among the gods and goddesses who betrayed me," she whispered fiercely, delighting in the fact that he was so numb, he barely flinched. "If you would prefer that I not use your _son _as a means to that end…you will do…as we ask. You _will _relinquish your guardianship."

Adam stared straight ahead, seeing not the beat up interiors of the hunter's house, but the face of his wife – his beauty, his true love – heartbroken at the mere thought of what Circe could do to their family. And suddenly, he could see it all. He could picture everything – the face of a boy he didn't even know yet, a boy who hadn't even been born and yet… Adam already loves him. The boy is happy, healthy. They've named him after someone dear to them both – Maurice perhaps. Or maybe, Gaspard, after Adam's father. The boy loves his home, his family, his favorite butler, Lumiere. He loves to run and play in the stables with Chip. Above all, he loves his mother, and his favorite moments are curling up with her in front of the fire with a good book. The boy grows. Adam teaches him to fight, to defend himself, to rule. Perhaps he falls in love. Becomes engaged. His mother beams with pride and joy at her young boy becoming a man. And then one day…when they least expect it…he is taken from them. From her. From Belle…

Adam's shoulders sank under Circe's manipulative caress. He bent over, his head falling into his hands. Without even glancing back, he whispered, "What do I have to do?"

…

The wintery breeze was seeping into the coats and jackets of those gathered outside as Philip finished his explanation, but no one actually noticed the cold. Standing alongside the wishing well risen from his realm, the young king had the entire group somewhat mystified (and in the case of Grumpy, a bit dubious) as he told them the truth about Maleficent.

"You're tellin' us that _the _most fearsome enchantress in all three realms, the woman who vowed vengeance on Princess Aurora as a _baby, _is actually…one uh the good guys?" grunted the dwarf.

Philip nodded as Snow shook her head. "You and Aurora trusted in her so much, you purposefully _allowed_ her to be cast into a sleeping curse?" she cried. "On your _wedding _day?" Having been under such a curse herself, she couldn't possibly fathom why, if it was all a charade to begin with, Aurora wouldn't have just arranged to be chained and locked up instead.

Philip glanced at a now exponentially perplexed Trent Davis, shifted his gaze over to Emma (who tacitly shook him off), and sighed. Under Emma's near threatening gaze, the king had cautiously avoided any mentioning of the fact that he had not, in fact, woken Aurora that day. To do so would reveal that Philip was _not _Aurora's true love, and open up more questions about his own awakening (something Emma was clearly going to avoid as long as possible). He was smart enough to keep mum about the whole thing, though inwardly, he couldn't help but chuckle. They were going to find out sooner or later. After all, when they finally got around to rescuing 'Dawn Charles', it wasn't as if 'Matt Clancy' would be able to free her from the curse. "That's…_Aurora's_ part of the story," he said finally. "And when she wakes," he glanced again at Trent, "I'll let her explain that part to you. In the meantime, yes," he turned back to Grumpy, "Maleficent is here…and she's here to help."

"Incredible," Snow said softly. "So," she glanced up in amazement. "She's been here the whole time. M-maleficent."

"Hogwash," grunted the grumpy dwarf, who closed his fist tightly around the soulodestone. "If she's an ally, I'm the bleedin' blue fairy. You're telling us she's living in Storybrooke, _and_ — " he thrust the stone in front of him, "she can still do _witchcraft_? Then why have we spent 28 years cursed and frozen in time?"

"Grumpy—" Snow said sternly, but Aladdin actually cut in.

"No," said the street rat, turning to Philip. "Grumpy's got a point. Maleficent is probably one of the most powerful mages in our world. If she's here, and she's _good, _why—"

"Why wait 28 years to offer any assistance?" Philip finished the question he knew everyone was now thinking. He sighed, knowing how prejudiced they all were against Maleficent. After all, she'd played a _very _convincing villain since embedding herself within the Council of Rogues, particularly during Regina's civil war in New Gaia. For this reason, he looked right at Snow, almost as if his explanation were also a kind of apology. "First of all, Maleficent _has _been here for 28 years, but she's had to disguise herself, using at least _some_ of her magic to avoid detection until," he paused and glanced at Emma, "until the savior arrived."

Emma gulped. "She knows about _me?_"

Philip nodded, then looked back at Snow. "It's one of the last bits of intel she got to us. We tried to get a message to you, but our courier was…intercepted on his way to New Gaia. The curse hit before we could send another."

Snow dropped her gaze. _Intercepted. _A very diplomatic way of saying _killed._ Oh how many they'd already lost in this war against Regina. How many more _would _they lose before it was over?

"After that, Maleficent had two choices," Philip went on, alternating his gaze around the group to include even those he knew still slept. They would waken eventually, and they would _all _need to be as informed as possible. "She could take on the entire council single-handedly, or she could wait for the prophecy to be fulfilled," his gaze rested once more on Emma, "and for _good _magic to return to Storybrooke." He offered her a small smile at which he was happy to note her blushing. "She didn't want to risk a full on assault, and honestly," he looked to Grumpy, "I'm pretty sure she expected her powers to be severely limited here. Obviously, she opted to wait. In the meantime, I…" he looked back at Snow and stammered a bit, knowing what Maleficent had planned to do once safely ensconced in Storybrooke, but unsure of the specifics. "It was my understanding that she would be…well," he cast his gaze around again, "leaving clues."

Snow gasped, jaw dropped. "C-clues?"

Philip looked nervously between her and Aladdin. "Yeah, um…" again he hesitated. "I don't know how exactly, but somehow she was going to try and…jog our memories. Anonymous letters maybe? Or pictures—"

"The book," Snow murmured, barely above a whisper. And almost everyone assembled, gasped. She looked up at her equally stunned daughter. "Henry's book, Emma. Maleficent must have written it."

"You think so?" asked Emma.

"I'm sure of it," replied her mother with frightening certainty. "Because I remember now. I finally remember where I found it."

"Where, Snow?" asked Archie, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

She turned. "In my locker…at the hospital."

The entire group erupted in murmurs. "That would make sense," Philip nodded, remembering now the snippets of his story they'd shown 'Matt Clancy' back in the cottage. It also explained why Philip's was the only story in the book that was…well, wrong. Aurora's 'Aunt Effie' had altered the ending to further protect her beloved niece.

Head buzzing, again feeling a keen sense of information-overload, Emma shivered and pulled Philip's coat tightly around her neck. "Well if Maleficent wrote the book, then—" she pulled the soulodestone from Grumpy's hand then turned to Trent— "she must've had a good reason to give you this, too. And if you could hear Dawn's voice through this thing, then maybe we can use it to locate—" but Emma didn't have a chance to finish her thought for as soon as her fingers closed tightly around the egg, the world flashed white and she felt herself thrown through her vortex.

The vision caught her more off guard than usual since it was the first time she'd had one without touching another _person. _And the thought disturbed her as her superpower whisked her away to God-knows-where, for if any old object now could conjure a vision, she was headed for a migraine of epic proportions.

Abruptly, she felt herself plopped back down in the forest, almost in the exact same spot as she'd just been standing, except the group that had gathered outside the cavern entrance was gone. She glanced around, getting her bearings and feeling…odd. Something felt, once again, _different_ about this vision. She was back to being a voyeur again – that much she knew, for she didn't feel, as she had in her vision with Philip, like she'd been thrust _into _her future body. But she also, for some reason, didn't think she was in the past. And to top it off, she didn't feel like she was…alone.

Nothing else around her seemed too out of place though, so she took a few hesitant steps away from the cave entrance and then stopped short. A short distance away stood the well, the very same that Philip's awakening had unearthed. A small group of people were gathered around it, moving about quickly, and it sounded as if they were quarreling. _No, _she thought as she drew closer. _Not quarreling. Rushing._

Emma approached the well until she was just a few feet away, finally recognizing the majority of those surrounding it: Aladdin and Jasmine were there, flanking the woman Emma now knew was her future self. Snow and Ella were on the other side of the well, Ella with a firm grasp on its crank while Jasmine held the rope. In between them all stood a petite, auburn-haired woman Emma didn't know. The woman was clutching something to her chest – a golden sea shell – as if it is her lifeline, though at the same time, she seemed thoroughly confused as to what she was even doing there.

"Remember what you saw in the mirror," Snow said, sounding as if she were reminding her, reassuring her.

"And what you saw when you touched the shell," added Ella. "It's all real, Marina. Trust us."

_Marina, _thought Emma, and she couldn't help but grin. Sometime soon, it appeared they would indeed find the sixth guardian. The seer stepped a bit closer, hazarding a look at her future self who seemed just as off-kilter and uncertain as the little mermaid. But Aladdin had a firm grip on her future self's shoulder and seemed pretty confident in, well, whatever was about to happen. At that moment, Snow held something out for the legendary red-head to take. Emma gaped as she realized what it was: the soulodestone.

The nervous woman stared at the object with increased trepidation, looking just as doubtful as Emma herself suddenly felt. But at last, Marina nodded, slipped the golden shell around her neck by the silver chain from which it hung, then accepted the egg-shaped trinket and held it close.

"Now close your eyes, Marina," Jasmine said softly, and only then did Emma realize the dark-haired princess was clutching her husband's other hand so tightly behind him, it seemed she was holding on for dear life. Clearly much was riding on this little experiment, and Emma worked hard to commit every detail to memory as her vision continued to unfold – for its purpose was now clear: she was here to learn. To learn what came next, what they must do to continue to unravel the curse.

"Marina," Emma whispered as she watched. _Marina Andersen…_the little mermaid. _I'll be damned. _

Snow nodded to the girl. "Close your eyes," she repeated Jasmine's soft command.

"And sing," Ella added with a smile.

"Sing _what_?" Marina implored them, a helpless tone in her voice though her eyes remain closed.

"Sing from your heart, Marina," Snow replied, reaching out to her friend's arm a friendly squeeze.

Marina huffed, and Emma couldn't blame her. It was, after all, not an answer. But the young woman sighed and drew a deep breath. She sighed again, exhaling small white puffs of breath in the cold air. All eyes were glued to her and finally, after what seemed to be an endless pause, she began to sing. It was a soft melody, one with no lyrics, but a beautiful, haunting series of "ahs." Everyone gathered at the well was enraptured by the tune, throwing each other knowing glances, and Emma felt that familiar nagging sensation of being in-the-dark about something significant. But she tried not to let it bother her this time and, instead, concentrated on the scene more intently.

As Marina sang, her voice grew in strength, and soon the wintery air was filled with music, the very wind whistling through the branches in tune with her lullaby. Then…the solodestone began to glow.

Snow reached behind her and clasped Ella's hand, bursting with excitement. The two of them stepped away, as did Jasmine. But Aladdin remained at future-Emma's side and Emma saw her vision-self wince as it seemed his grip on her had just tightened. He pushed her forward, nodding. Emma held her breath, watching her vision-self reach a shaking hand toward Marina and then rest it upon her shoulder.

The blue light emanating from the stone intensified and in a brilliant flash, a portal opened – like the one that had swallowed up Jefferson, only this time it opened right behind them like a free-standing doorway. Both Emmas' jaws dropped as did Snow's and Ella's, but before anyone could utter a word, a young man was suddenly catapulted through the portal and landed at Emma's feet.

_This is Eric, _thought Emma, without truly knowing where the idea came from. But for some reason she was certain. In the near future, they would figure out how to use the soulodestone to literally transport Ariel's true love.

Emma might have gaped in disbelief had she not already seen a dozen other impossible things in the past 48 hours that were gradually numbing her to the fact that this was her world now, and she was starting to accept it more and question less. She continued to watch as Snow and Aladdin rushed towards the young man while Jasmine seized the rope and Ella turned the crank, the two of them lifting a small ladle from a tiny bucket in the well. "Quickly," said future-Emma as she released Marina's shoulder and the portal closed behind them.

Snow and Aladdin brought a disoriented Eric to the base of the well. He was glaring up at Marina, the two of them locked in a stare as Jasmine scooped the water into the ladle and stooped down to Eric's side. "Drink!" she said loudly…obnoxiously in fact, as if she thought the man was deaf. Emma watched as Eric continued to stare up at Marina who, in the midst of everything she'd just seen happen, could do little more than nod, encouraging the young man to drink.

"Think it'll work?" she heard her future-self mutter to Aladdin.

He gave the stone lip of the well an affectionate pat. "Heals what is hurt," he said to her with a grin. Then he nodded down at the couple as Eric drank the water. "Can't get their happy ending if he can't hear her sing."

So _that _was it, Emma realized. Eric's Storybrooke self _was _deaf. She seemed to recall singing being a rather significant part of the movie she knew – if that part was true of the _real_ story, it made sense that Regina's curse would have denied him the very ability of being able to hear that voice again.

Gradually, the scene started to fade and Emma could no longer make out distinct voices or words as a suddenly vocal Eric leapt to his feet and started to speak. Emma closed her eyes and waited…waited for herself to be plucked out of the vision and plunged back into reality. Typically, this is where the visions ended. She'd seen what she'd needed to see, she was certain of it. But as she continued to wait, she realized she wasn't going anywhere. "What the hell?" she muttered to herself. Why wasn't she moving? She needed to get back, to explain what they would need to do to wake Ariel, or at least who needed to be involved (and based on the vision, she was fairly certain Aladdin would be able to explain the rest). Why the hell wasn't she leaving? Why wasn't the vision fading? Why—

"Emma?" she heard a voice behind her, and she was at once reminded of how she'd felt when she first arrived. Like she wasn't alone. No one had ever addressed her in a vision. No one except Philip, and that was only because she was "playing" herself then. No, this was different. Someone was here with her, experiencing the vision like she was.

"Emma!" she heard again and the voice filled her soul, invigorated her like a glass of cool water after a trek through the desert. She would know that voice anywhere, now. She couldn't believe how desperately she'd _needed_ to hear that voice. And as she turned to face him, she couldn't bother herself enough to wonder or care why she was suddenly _sharing _her vision with someone else. For emanating from a bright green light was a man she'd honestly feared she would never see again. Tears stung her eyes as he stood before her. And her breath hitched in her throat as she whispered his name: "Dad."

…

*****Hey all! I've recently just finished a 4-week run of being the lead in a summer stock musical, so I've been trying to write as much as I can between scenes and during downtime at rehearsals. Hopefully, you've enjoyed meeting the final guardian and her true love (I think I'm FINALLY done introducing characters now…whew!)**

**Regarding the recent revelation of Philip as Emma's true love, I first off must extend my sincerest and warmest gratitude to the overwhelmingly positive response from so many of you. It was an incredible risk to take – probably the riskiest move I've made since eliminating Rumbelle from the storyline altogether. I'm blessed with so many readers who leave incredible reviews and PMs, and I really can't thank you enough for sticking with this story as long as you have and giving me the motivation to continue.**

**That being said, I feel I also owe some sort of response to those of you who have expressed displeasure about the Philip/Emma twist. I admit I've been torn on whether or not to mention it here at all since even addressing it in an author's note story makes me look like I'm trying too hard to defend it, or don't truly believe in it myself. At the same time, ignoring the criticism completely from an equally dedicated following makes me look like I don't give a *bleep* what you think. Neither is the case. So I just wanted to take an opportunity to say – I hear you. And I respect your point of view. It is, I admit, (speaking as a Disney fanatic) practically sacrilegious to break up such a time honored pairing as Philip and Aurora, and coming from someone who has perused a fair amount of Harry/Luna or Draco/Hermione fan fiction, I can easily sympathize.**

**I also won't attempt to dissuade you from your objections – they are yours and you are entitled to them. I will only say thank you for your readership and for sharing your feedback. If you would like me to respond in more detail to specific questions/objections raised, I would be happy to do so through PMing. Don't hesitate to message me. In the meantime, I do hope very much that you will continue to read in spite of this particular plot point. Writers are never going to please absolutely everyone with everything, but I hope there is at least something for everyone to enjoy in "Toll Bridge."**

**Coming up…brace yourselves for a rather emotional reunion for Emma and James!*****


	42. Diamonds in the Rough

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_Boy is that summary OLD!...but oddly enough, it still fits because Aaaaaaaaaall of this, is what I believe WOULD have happened if James hadn't seen that damn windmill! _

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

…

**Diamonds in the Rough**

Emma broke into a run, rushing toward her father as the brilliant green light behind him faded. Hot tears still prickled her eyes as James quickly overcame his own shock at seeing his daughter and parted his arms as she approached. She reached for him, ready to throw her arms around his neck as if she were a 12-year-old in pigtails coming home from school. James started jogging too, but when they finally reached each other and Emma lunged forward, she yelped as she felt herself pass right through him.

James gasped and spun around, Emma now stumbling and catching her fall behind him. She whipped her head around, jaw dropped. "H-hey," she said, "what just—"

James cast a confused glance around the forest then looked down at his hand. He was still holding the green speckled egg. And it was still glowing. "Damn," he muttered, then closed it tightly in his palm, knowing now how important it was that he not let go.

"Dad?" Emma peered at him, cautiously approaching again as she reached out her hand.

James gulped, stepping toward her as he also put up his palm and inched his hand closer to hers. His breath hitched in his throat as they tried once more to touch; sadly – though he felt a slight tingling in his palm as she tried to press her hand against his – he also felt, or rather _didn't _feel, the terrible emptiness of their fingers once more passing through each other. "I guess a hug is out of the question," he muttered. Still, nothing could quite suppress the elation of seeing her, for the moment, safe and out of Regina's grasp.

Emma lowered her hand with a frown; the knot that had been coiling in her stomach since discovering her son's disappearance tightened even further upon realizing that she couldn't embrace her father. "H-how…how long do you think we have?" she asked, not wanting to waste any time. It was clear her father was somehow sharing her vision, and it was so good to see him that she didn't really care at the moment how or why it was possible.

James lowered his arm to his side. "You would know better than me," he said. "How long do your visions usually last?"

Emma glanced back at the now fading images of her vision-self helping Eric and Ariel by the wishing well. "It…depends," she stammered, embarrassed by how much she still didn't understand about her own power. "Sometimes it feels like only a few minutes. Or it's like I'm here for hours. I don't—" she looked down sheepishly. "I can't really control it."

James looked beyond his daughter to the wishing well, still fading, then back to Emma and grinned. "Well, maybe you _can_ now. It's obvious your power is growing."

Her head shot up. "Why do you say that?"

He nodded past her. "That was some pretty impressive magic, Emma. Creating a portal? Pulling Eric through?"

Emma blushed and shuffled her feet. Her father, with that unmistakable tone of parental pride, hadn't seemed to notice (or was simply kind enough not to point out) that Snow and Aladdin had been running the show during the vision, not her.

"And you're seeing the future now," James added. Emma gasped and looked up again as her father flashed another proud smile. "At least I'm _pretty_ sureit's the future, since as far as I know, Eric is still with me in the dungeon."

On instinct, Emma reached to grasp his wrist, forgetting where they were, and her hand passed through again. "You're with Eric?!"

He nodded. "And Belle and Aurora. We've been captured by Regina."

"Where?" she asked at once. "Where's she keeping you?"

But her father shook his head. "Not sure. All I know is we're underground."

"Damn!" Emma spat, her hands coming to her hips. For a split second, she was actually mad at him. If her 'long-lost' father was going to all the trouble to _share _her vision, one would think he'd at _least _bring along some useful information for her to rescue him!

James gulped, finding himself at a loss. "Emma," he tried quietly. "It's…gonna be all right."

"How?" she turned back to him. "How is this gonna be all right?"

"Emma—"

"It's been _two _days since Regina took my son, and I'm no closer to finding him. According to Rumple-_shit_skin, I have to find and wake up all these—" she flung her hand carelessly toward the faded vision— "these guardians and—"

"Guardians?"

"—which _apparently_ I have to do by opening some sort of door in the world—"

"Sweetheart, calm down—"

"Oh and _by the way_," Emma continued, starting to pace, "I have to do all of this by 6:00pm tonight because otherwise Regina will give me _another _body to bury next to Graham's!"

"EMMA!" James bellowed, his heart breaking as he watched his daughter unravel. At the same time, his own mind was spinning: Henry still missing? Waking up guardians?…_Graham_ dead instead of Abigail? In the short time since he'd been captured, his girl had obviously been through hell. He had to reassure her somehow, but the New Gaian prince was running low on platitudes. "Slow down," he said finally, commanding her attention. She sighed and met his gaze, her eyes swimming with the stress and worry of a woman shouldering burden of the world. In that moment, she reminded him so much of Snow, he could barely speak. "Start…from the beginning," he managed.

She shook her head. "We don't have _time_, Dad. I have no idea—"

"Your initial vision is over, Emma," he spread his arms out wide. "And we're still here. We have all the time in the world. Start…at the beginning."

Emma huffed, wondering what exactly had given her father _that_ idea. There was no guarantee they had _all the time in the world. _Emma certainly had no idea how to control _having _a vision let alone its length. But at the same time, she felt strangely like the only way to ensure that it would last was to keep talking. So that's what she did. She talked. And through it all, her father listened – soaking up the information like a sponge, committing to memory facts that would be vital later, info relevant to the part he knew he must eventually play. Emma launched into more than a dozen stories: her trip to 'Stiltskin's shop, finding Michael Tillman, being rescued by Granny and Red, Graham's death and burial, the reunion of the royals from Seven Gales, the seven dwarfs, Aladdin and Jasmine, Lucas and Philip, the news that Maleficent was in fact a double-agent and Christopher's chilling prediction regarding the guardians and their "something precious."

The fact that James and Belle had been right about the reason they were being held with the others was little comfort in the midst of such grim portents. Regina planned to permanently cripple the balance of magic in their world by using the guardians' loved ones to coerce them into giving up control. Terrific. And from everything Emma related to him, James whole-heartedly agreed with King Christopher – Regina couldn't possibly _understand _the magic she was exploiting, but her ignorance didn't make her any less dangerous – in fact, it made her more-so.

"Which brings us to Ariel and Eric," Emma said with a heavy sigh, having at last caught her father all the way up to the present. She'd told him everything…well, _almost _everything. Conveniently, she left out the part about Philip (granted, she was still new to the father-daughter thing, but she was pretty sure French-kissing one of your _dad's _friends was a major faux pas no matter _what _world you were in).

"Which brings us here," James nodded, glancing again at the wishing well.

Emma let out another sigh. "If only we knew where _here _is. Or at least _when _this is. Not to mention _how _I'm supposed to do _that_." She waved her hand impatiently toward the spot where they'd seen future-Emma create and pull Eric through a portal. The contents of her original vision had by now completely faded and Emma felt suddenly rushed, as if any moment her newfound 'superpower' would cut her off from her father like bad cell reception.

James took a few steps past her, arms folded over his chest. He played the images over again in his own mind, striving to move past his own jaw-dropping awe at having seen Emma work such powerful magic. There was a detail that had stuck with him. A detail he knew was playing a significant role in this very meeting. He sighed and turned back to his daughter. "Well, I can't say for sure, but I think it's a safe bet that _this _has something to do with it."

He brought forth the green stone, still glowing so brightly beneath his fingers that Emma couldn't believe she only just noticed it. When James opened his palm and she got a good look, she nearly shrieked, for that was when she realized…she was still holding hers. "Another soulodestone," she whispered, presenting the blue egg in her own hand. Was that it? Was that how he was sharing her vision?

"Sou-_loh-_destone," said James, eyeing them both. "_That's _what it's called. Grumpy once told me how they—"

"Ran across them in their battle to retake your kingdom," Emma recalled suddenly. Then, in response to the shock on her dad's face, she mumbled, "or…or whatever."

James beamed. "That's… right," he said, trying hard not to grin from ear-to-ear. His daughter was talking about his kingdom. _Their _kingdom.

Emma shrugged. "Grumpy said it's…some kind of…communication device," she glanced back at hers and frowned again, "but he—he didn't—" she looked up at him again, pointing rapidly between the two of them— "he failed to mention _this_."

"Well, he wouldn't," James smiled, hatching the same theory in his head that his daughter had. "As far as I know, soulodestones are for talking _telepathically_. Two souls who share an already strong connection can link their minds through the stones and channel their thoughts back and forth."

Emma looked to the stone again. "Link their _minds_," she murmured, turning the stone over and over in her hands. "But that," she struggled, shaking her head. "Then that still doesn't explain how I can _see _you. Or how you can see—"

"I think it does."

"How?"

James took a deep breath, preparing himself for the embarrassed grimace he knew would come. "You're a _seer, _Emma. And I know you don't like to hear it, but you're incredibly powerful." As he predicted, his daughter rolled her eyes, and James suppressed another grin. "The soulodestone is a product of magic. But so are _you_. Obviously your gift allows you to channel more than just your thoughts through the stone. You're actually…channeling your magic."

Again, Emma gulped. She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. In fact, the more she found out about this power of hers, the less of it she wanted. "Channeling it so much, I'm apparently gonna pull a whole _person _through?" she snapped, glancing back in the direction of the original vision.

"Emma—"

"How the hell am I supposed to figure out how to do that?" she huffed, stalking past him. "Especially since _you _aren't really here!"

"Aladdin will know," he offered. "And if what you've told me about Maleficent is true, then I'm willing to bet this 'Maeve' person can help you too. The soulodestone is her design—"

"And how will _any _of this help me find Henry. _Or _help me stop whoever Regina decides to _kill_ next?" she cried, hating herself for growing hysterical again, but she couldn't help it. Every time the very thought of Regina's 24-hour ultimatum resurfaced, she grew queasy. "I can't be in three places at once, Dad: I can't wake up guardians and restore…_balance_ or whatever to magic AND turn myself into Regina before tonight AND find my son!"

James sighed, wishing for the millionth time that he could fold his arms around her and hold her close. He could certainly relate to what she was feeling: Once upon a time, the toughest challenge he faced was convincing his mother to plant closer to the river to improve the next harvest. In a matter of hours, he was donned in armor, betrothed to a stranger and headed up a mountain to take on a dragon. Now, here they were, 30 years later: Emma Swan had been a bail-bondsman, a loner with few responsibilities and no roots. In a matter of months she was a daughter, a mother, and destined to save an entire world.

"Emma, I know none of this has been easy for you. And I can't tell you how much I wish sometimes that…" he sighed, looking down. "Part of me wishes we'd never sent you through that wardrobe. That we could somehow have…spared you all of this."

"That's not what—"

"But another part of me," he interrupted, his voice calm and steadying, "couldn't be prouder."

Emma's heart dropped to her stomach as she gulped back tears. What on earth did he have to be proud of?

"The woman you've become," James answered as if she'd asked it out loud. "The strength you have, the way you've dealt with burdens no one should be expected to bear…the way you are with Henry—"

"Please stop," she whispered, looking down.

"—what more could a father want for his daughter?"

Tears finally escaped her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. "Dad I…" she sniffled, trying to stave off full-on waterworks, "I can't do this—"

"Emma, look at me," James stepped right in front of her, willing her to look up since he couldn't actually reach for her. "I can't promise it's gonna be easy to defeat Regina or – or open this 'door' of Rumpelstiltskin's. Hell, I can't even promise it won't get worse. But if _anyone _can do it, it's you."

She took a deep, shaky breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Why are you _so _sure of that?" she rasped.

James chuckled. "Well, you _are _your mother's daughter."

Emma scoffed. "I'm hardly—"

"And you're also _mine_," he stressed with a grin. "And in _my _family…good doesn't lose."

His smile was infectious, and even through blurry eyes she couldn't help but snort at her father's ridiculous optimism – particularly when he was, at the moment, being held in an underground dungeon. "Well," she half chuckled-half sniffled. "When you put it _that_ way…"

"Hey," he continued, "you've got a lot of people back there helping you. And now," he held up the soulodestone, "you have me."

Emma clutched her own stone close and nodded.

"_Trust _yourself, Emma. And don't lose faith."

She opened her mouth to reply but the finality of James's tone seemed to have triggered a change in their surroundings. The forest as a whole started to blur, and the familiar tugging at her stomach warned her that she was about to, at last, be pulled from the vision. "Hold on to the stone," she said, her tone hurried. "And stay close to Eric."

"I will," he nodded.

The nauseating feeling returned, and Emma felt herself being ripped away from him. "And Dad?" she called as his image began to fade. "I _will _find you. I promise!"

James gripped the stone close to his heart as his own voice cracked. "I have no doubt."

Emma braced herself as she flew through her vortex and surged backward. With a slight jolt, she rocked forward, back on her own two feet, and the soulodestone fell out of her hand, landing with a soft plop on the snow-covered ground.

…

"Emma?" Snow cried out for the second time as her daughter seemed to have jolted back to consciousness. It was different this time – a bit longer, maybe a full minute – and there was a sort of soft blue glow about her as she experienced what was clearly a vision. Her head, which had jerked back at first, now rolled forward as she reoriented herself to her mother's voice. Snow watched as Emma's eyes fluttered open, then stepped back as the girl stooped to the ground and recovered the stone as if she was afraid to lose it. "Emma," Snow said again, placing her palm on her back. "Are you all right?"

Emma's gaze juddered around the group, and it took a moment to remember exactly what they had been talking about. All eyes were on her of course, but this time no one had to guess what she'd just been through.

"What happened?"

"Whadidja see?"

"Did she have a vision?"

"Emma?" she heard her mother's voice again in the cacophony of voices and, finally, her breathing returned to normal and she looked up. "Emma, what was it?" asked Snow. "Past or future?"

"Future," Emma said, straightening up as the mood in the group shifted from confusion to anticipation.

"What did you see?" Aladdin asked, stepping forward.

"I saw," she gulped, glancing between the street rat and Jasmine, then back to Snow. "I saw _us_, helping Ariel and Eric…get their happy ending."

"The sixth guardian!" Grumpy punched his fist triumphantly in the air.

"Finally, some _good _news," added Granny as Red grasped for and squeezed her hand.

"When? Where?" asked Philip, who'd come to Emma's side as soon as she'd dropped the stone on the ground.

"O-over there," said Emma, pointing with her still shaking hand. "At your wishing well. We…" she stammered, struggling to form words. Communication with her father in the ether had been so effortless, it now felt like extra work to be battling the harsh cold of the _real _forest. "We pulled Eric through a…a portal."

Aladdin lurched forward, eyes wide. "A portal?"

She nodded. "Using _this_," she added, holding up the soulodestone.

Philip reached for it, but Emma snatched her hand back, an almost violent motion that caught everyone off guard. Aladdin hesitated, then pressed on, sensing how vital every shred of this vision was to their getting home. "How?"

Emma's eyes narrowed toward the thief, almost accusing. She didn't like one bit that the apparent mastermind of the plan didn't immediately have an answer for it himself. "He said _you _would know," she replied, then looked to Philip. "And Maeve…or, Maleficent."

"_Me?_" Aladdin answered, glancing between Emma and his wife.

"Yeah," Emma replied, "He said talk to Aladdin. That he'll know how to—"

"How to use a _stone_ to open a _portal_?" Aladdin scoffed, but Snow interrupted.

"_Who _said, Emma?" she asked. "Who told you to talk to Aladdin?"

Emma closed her eyes, squeezing the precious device tightly in her hand as if willing herself to hear his voice again. "Dad," she said quietly, looking back at Snow.

Snow gasped as did many others around her. "You…you saw your father? You saw James?!" she rasped, clutching her hand over her heart.

"I didn't just see him, Mom. I _talked _to him. He was," she paused and looked over at Grumpy. "He was sharing my vision."

"That's impossible," grunted the dwarf. "James ain't a seer—"

"No, but Emma _is,_" offered Philip, looking between both princesses of New Gaia. "And the soulodestone channels the mind. There's no reason it can't channel magic _controlled _by the mind."

Emma started, _really _looking into his eyes for the first time since their kiss. "That's…" she managed, "yeah that's what James thought too."

Philip cracked a small smile before Emma managed to look away again. He turned to Snow. "Not surprised. For a shepherd, he always did have a knack for understanding—"

"For a shepherd?" asked Grumpy and Happy at the exact same time.

Snow glared at Philip and quickly changed the subject. "Never mind that now," she waved her hand impatiently. "Where is he, Emma? Is he safe? Can we reach him?"

"He doesn't know exactly," she sighed. "All he knows is he's underground. Regina's got him, along with Aurora, Belle…and Eric."

"Seems Christopher was right, then," said Archie who'd remained quiet for much of this little confab while he'd absorbed as much information as he could. All heads turned to the wise cricket. "James, Aurora, Eric and Belle – aren't they all… 'something precious'?"

The group fell silent, many looking down or glancing at each other sideways. It was Marco, at last, who finally broke the ice. "Well at least they're together," he said gently, "and whatever Regina's got planned for them she hasn't done yet, so—" he paused and looked to Snow whose eyes were betraying so many conflicting emotions that he felt a rather paternal urge to reach out and give her shoulder a squeeze— "there's still time."

Grumpy opened his mouth to respond – no doubt to argue up a storm from the expression on his face – but a loud, throaty cry suddenly bellowed through the forest, heralding from the entrance of the caverns. The entire group broke into a run, tearing back toward the cottage, fearing the worst. Emma's heart raced as she sprinted ahead of them, wondering what _else _had gone wrong, but as the lot of them rounded the bend and arrived at the entrance, they all skidded to a halt with a collective gasp, an astonishing sight before them. At the mouth of the cavern, pinned against the wall of vines, stood Michael Tillman, trembling in fright as he stared directly into the fierce eyes…of Graham's wolf.

…

Henry kept his head low to the sink as he slapped soap on a rusty pan and scraped the crusted glop off the side. It was after breakfast at the boys' home and Henry had been assigned to work with Nibs and Gretel on kitchen-clean up. Captain Hook was pacing slowly behind them, a fierce glint in his eye each time he passed by Henry. The boy took a deep breath, concentrating on the menial task before him as they waited for Hook to leave. The door creaked open and Henry resisted turning to look at who had entered. Captain Hook had continued keeping a close eye on Henry, but he seemed even more on edge today than he was before. The boys, consequently, had subdued their raucous behavior considerably, not at all wanting a repeat of yesterday's lunch, for they could tell something was brewing. Something big. Something bad.

It was Rufio who had entered the kitchen, carrying the now emptied breakfast platter from Hook's den. He too kept his head low, walking right by the captain as he made his way to the three giant, metal sinks where Henry, Gretel and Nibs stood. Eventually, Hook tired and grunted, scratching his hook along the doorframe as he at last retreated to his office. Henry checked behind him, watched the door latch shut, and then let out a huge sigh.

"He _knows _something is up," Nibs hissed, as if picking up an earlier conversation right where he'd left it. "He hasn't watched us this closely since we arrived here decades ago!"

"He's only watchin' this close cuz of Henry," Gretel argued, plucking a plate from Henry's hand and drying it with a worn-out rag. "He watched me and Hansel just as much when _we _first got here too, remember?"

"It's not the same thing," argued Nibs.

"Guys—" Henry tried.

"Nibs is right," said Rufio, letting the platter and breakfast tins clatter loudly in the sink to cover up their conversation. "This is different. It's even different from yesterday," he glanced back at the door. "Hook's…_worried _about something."

"It's only cuz Henry _just_ gothere," Gretel insisted, getting right in Rufio's face. "After a few days, he'll have gotten used to it and—"

"_Gu-_uys—"

"You don't think it's a little more than coincidence that on the very day Henry starts talkin' about an escape plan, a _real _escape plan, Hook tightens up security?" Nibs hissed.

"_You_ two haven't been here that long," added Rufio, staring down his female rival. "Hook's _never _had us eating in _shifts _before. It took _hours _to get through breakfast cuz he only let us out of our rooms five at a time!"

"Which means he musta heard us last night," said Nibs, turning back to Henry. "And if he already knows we're gonna try to escape—"

"He _doesn't_ knowNibs!" Henry spat, throwing his damp rag back into the sink. "He doesn't know a thing, trust me!"

"You can't be sure of that—"

"Yes I can—"

"How?"

"Because I knowwhat Hook _is_ worried about! It's what I've been _trying _to tell you all morning if you'd let me get a word in!"

Both lost boys took a step back, eyeing their newcomer dubiously, and the doubt in their eyes certainly stung – Henry was after all, the son of the _savior_! Then again, he supposed these boys had no reason to believe what he'd told them about his mom, that there really _was _a savior to begin with. They'd been cooped up here for so long, this place was all they knew, which made Henry little more than "just another lost boy." Thank goodness for Hansel and Gretel, to whom Henry would forever be "the boy with the answers." His outburst earned him a grin from the young girl and she stepped up behind him, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Tell us, Henry," she encouraged him, a remark that earned her a slightly jealous grunt from Rufio.

"Yeah, _do tell _Henry," he mocked.

Henry took a deep breath. "Hook couldn't possibly know what we're up to because while we were upstairs planning last night, he was in his office, glued to his mirror."

"His mirror?!" Nibs scoffed, disbelievingly.

"With _that _face?" added Rufio.

"Shh! Let 'im finish!" spat Gretel.

"He wasn't lookin' at himself," Henry continued. "He was talking to Regina."

"Regina?!"

"The queen?"

"Yes," he nodded. "It's how the queen communicates. I read about it in the book. She's got a genie trapped in a magic mirror and through him, she can turn _any_ reflective surface into her own personal window. She sent out some message last night about my mom," Henry gulped, remembering how queasy he felt upon hearing the queen's ultimatum. Hopefully Emma wouldn't do something stupid like _actually _turn herself in to his evil adoptive mother. It was all the more reason he needed to convince the boys that the plan would work. They needed to get _out _of here so he could get back to his family. They _needed _him! "The queen's gonna start crushing hearts unless Emma turns herself in. She broadcast it to the whole town! After that, Regina contacted Hook for an update on me. They argued for like a half hour about what to do with all of us if stuff goes wrong in Storybrooke."

"How do _you _know?" demanded Nibs, "You were upstairs with us!"

"Mick told me!" he said, proudly resting his hands on his hips. "I sent him down to Hook's office to spy on 'im."

Nibs sighed as Rufio rolled his eyes and turned to brace his hands on the edge of the sink. "Oh _Mick _told you. You mean the _talking mouse_ we're all supposed to believe is off delivering your message right now?"

"Hey!" Gretel admonished them both. "Are you forgetting that _Henry _woke up Pinocchio? If he says he can talk to animals—"

"Mick will get our message through. The plan _will _work," Henry took a confident step toward Nibs, spurred on by the same unwavering certainty that he had when he first boarded that bus to Boston. "But not unless you're all with me," he said earnestly. Since his brilliant epiphany yesterday, Henry had no doubts that he and his new friends could prevail over the villainous Captain Hook, that they would escape this terrible prison with Peter Pan in tow. But last evening's shared optimism among the head lost boys had been severely diffused by Hook's behavior this morning. On the one hand, Henry couldn't blame them. After all, it had been almost 30 years of unsuccessful attempts. On the other hand – "You just can't lose faith," he implored them. "Not with so much riding on fairy dust and happy thoughts. Hook doesn't know _anything, _I promise. If all goes well, we'll be outta here by lunchtime."

Nibs and Rufio glared at each other, weighing the odds. It _was _a brilliant plan. In fact, Nibs was slightly irked that he hadn't come up with it himself – on the surface it was so simple. It did however depend entirely on Henry's "critter" friends coming through, and they would only have one shot. If they failed…Nibs shuddered, thinking of Tootles. He didn't want to think what Hook would do if they failed. "Henry—" Nibs sighed, clearly about to voice another concern, but Henry stopped him.

"Look, I know I'm new here," he said, "and I know it's dangerous, but—" he stammered, floundering, searching for something really inspiring, trying to think of what Pops would say.

"But do you really want to spend another 28 years playing it safe?" Gretel finished for him with a wink. Henry grinned and turned back to the boys.

Rufio glanced between Gretel and the young prince. It had been decades since the boys had waged true war on Hook – not since Peter had been young and Hook still ran this place like he was aboard the Jolly Roger. In fact, the last boy he'd seen looking so confident, so sure of himself and his plan…was Peter. He glanced over at Nibs, knowing Pan's second-in-command was thinking the same thing, and sighed. "All right Hank. You win."

"Yeah," Nibs said, with a resigned grin. "We better get upstairs." He glanced around at the others, nodding in agreement. "We got work to do."

…

_Graham's wolf, _thought Emma with a gasp as she caught her mother's eye. Snow recognized him too, and took a step toward the beast.

"G-get back," called Michael, and no one was quite sure if the woodsman was warning the others or pleading with the animal. He'd grown restless just waiting down below. Still nursing his injured leg, he'd trudged up the stone stairwell to discover what was taking so long and came face to face with the creature.

"It's all right, Michael," said Snow softly, and at the sound of her voice, the wolf's head turned. Emma came to her mother's side, as did Red, and the rest of the group watched in awe as the three women approached the wolf with near reverence.

Emma's heart leapt to her throat as the beast turned his eyes on her, one red, one gray, just as she'd seen that night – that night when the sheriff had sent him away. The night that…she'd awoken Graham.

"You have a message?" Snow spoke, barely above a whisper as she crouched before the magnificent canine.

The wolf bowed his head, turned his snout toward Red and paused, apparently sensing their shared inclinations. Red hadn't the gift of talking to all animals like Snow, but wolves…wolves Red understood.

"He's hurt," Red murmured as she knelt beside her friend, holding out her hand, beseeching the animal. The wolf nodded, and raised his paw to her palm. Snow frowned as she assessed the nasty gash on its leg, caressing her hand slowly over the injury. He only allowed a moment's fussing though because he had far more important matters to attend to.

"Umm," Michael cleared his throat, finally recovering from his shock since it appeared after all that the wolf would _not _be eating him today. "Anyone wanna clue me in here? Where've you all been and what's—" he gestured down at the three women seemingly _speaking _to the wolf, but Grumpy cut him off.

"Can it, will ya?" grunted the dwarf, who was immediately elbowed in the ribs by Granny.

"In a moment, Kurtis," she added in a far less chiding tone than her dwarf companion. The two turned back to watch the scene unfold, Grumpy having learned long ago to trust in Snow's gift with animals, Granny trusting in her own kin.

Snow lifted her palm to caress the wolf's cheek then gently reached around to scratch behind his ear. The wolf's eyes closed in gratitude. _"Thank you," _his voice murmured inside her head, _"it's been a long journey"_ and Snow gasped, for the wolf's voice sounded an awful lot like Graham's.

"What news do you bring, friend?"

"_I have done as I was asked. I have found the young ones."_

Snow let out a small cry. "You've found Henry?!" She whipped her head around as Emma stumbled forward, grasping on to her mother's shoulder for support.

"Where is he?" Emma begged the creature, "Where?!"

"Emma, be patient," Red hissed.

"But that's exactly what he was supposed to do! Graham sent him after the place where the Zimmers were taken. That _must_ be where Henry is!" The words spilled from her mouth only half-coherently for it seemed as if it'd been days since they'd had any good news.

"_She speaks the truth," _replied the wolf as it turned back to Snow. _"I have found…_all_ of the children. Or rather…they found me."_

Snow started. "_All _the children? What do you—I mean, how many—" But before the wolf could even respond, Snow's gasped as a rush of memories, not unlike the moment James first woke her up, surged through her…

…"_Miss Blanchard, how come the clock never moves?"_

_Mary Margaret's hand paused in the middle of scribbling parts of speech on the chalkboard. Summoning her patience, she placed the chalk on the tray, folded her hands tightly, and turned to face her class. "Harry, we've been over this before—"_

"_He's right, Miss B. The clock's always stuck at 8:15 and no one seems to know—"_

"_Jasen, please sit down in your seats. I've already explained it's a maintenance problem and—"_

"_Pfft, sure. Maintenance problem, that's what the old man at the fix-it shop told me too."_

_Mary Margaret stamped her foot and stared crossly at Danny Bosco, hanging – as usual – to the rear of the room. "Danny, that 'Old Man' has a name. It's Marco Collodi. _Mister _Collodi to you. And if he says it's a maintenance problem, young man, well—"_

"_He ain't a young _man_!" cried another boy in the far left corner, who leapt to his feet, shoved his desk out of the way and hopped up on the back of his chair as if he were a monkey. "And neither am I."_

"_Jeremy, sit down—"_

"_I won't grow up, Miss B. None of us will!" He turned to the rest of the children and Mary Margaret watched hopelessly as her students sat mesmerized by his exuberance and charisma. Why it looked like any moment, the boy might launch himself off the back of that chair…and fly. "Don't you see?" He spread his arms apart, planted a foot on his seat and rose to address them like a king (or a court jester). "Someone evil's cast his spell and frozen time for all who dwell in good ol' fashioned Storybrooke – whose spell you say? Why J.S. Hook!"_

_Several of the more vocal boys burst into woops and hollers, and Mary Margaret's heart started pounding. She'd never lost control of her class before, never allowed them to digress so far off topic. "Jeremy! Sit down!" she cried again, but to no avail. Why, they appeared ready to mutiny like…just like the Lost—_

"_Mr. Summers that is enough!" bellowed a stern voice from the hallway. The class gasped and Jeremy fell back in his seat as a severe, yellow-eyed woman strode through the door. She was tall and thin, sporting a large over-sized black turtleneck sweater stretched over black and white striped leggings and red stilettos. Her neck was draped with a blood-red fur scarf and her jet black hair was streaked white which heightened the impression upon the children of being stared down not by an old woman, but some sort of vicious, beady-eyed marsupial. _

"_M-mrs. DeVil. What a pleasant—"_

"_Pleasant surprise Miss Blanchard?" the woman's raspy voice snapped at her. "Yes, I'd expect you'd call it pleasant since I've come to take these problems _off _your hands."_

_Mary Margaret glanced from her children to her colleague. "P-problems?"_

"_Yes, it seems the school has finally wizened up to the fact that you cannot control your classroom, Miss Blanchard. So I've come to make your life…" she paused and swung her gaze back to the children, "easier."_

"_Mrs. DeVil, I assure you that's not—"_

"_Jeremy Summers?" DeVil ignored her, pulling a folded up card from her pocket and reading off a list of names: "Harry Eden, Isaiah Robinson, Jasen Fisher and Danny Bosco." The boys rose nervously in their chairs as each was called. DeVil flashed a devilish smile and gently replaced the card back into her over-sized pocket. "You students have been transferred to _my _class across the hall. Gather your things and say good-bye to Miss Blanchard."_

"_But Miss D—"_

"_NOW Jeremy. And bring your boys!"…_

… "Your boys," Snow whispered. "Jeremy." Her eyes felt heavy with the weight of more memories she couldn't believe she was only _now _remembering. "Peter," she amended.

"Peter?" said Red.

Granny broke from the rest of the group and stood behind her granddaughter. "Peter _Pan?_"

Snow nodded, still staring at the wolf who, in her head, confirmed her memory. "And the Lost Boys. They were here. In Storybrooke. They were in my _class_." She glanced up at Emma. "How could I have forgotten that?"

Emma shrugged, lost for words, save for – "the curse?"

"Regina's curse reached as far as _NeverLand_?" spat Grumpy. He turned to Philip and Aladdin with shared grimaces. "Well, ain't that peachy!"

"Quiet," Emma shushed him, turning back to the wolf. "Is. Henry. _With _them."

The wolf turned his gaze fully on the savior, and an image came to mind – not a vision this time, just a plain old memory. She remembered a few nights ago, watching Graham crouch before his friend, watching the beautiful canine slip his paw into Graham's palm just as she'd seen him do with Red a few moments ago. The animal's gaze was penetrating and Emma swallowed hard, unsure now whether she wanted to know the answer.

"It's all right, Emma," said Snow who glanced up at her and held out her own palm, beckoning her daughter to join her. "He has something to share with you."

Emma's gaze darted between mother and wolf, and briefly she thought about asking what exactly "it" was that the beast wanted to share. But if he had even a shred of information about Henry, she knew she must hear it. See it. Emma fell to her knees as the wolf cantered over and sat directly in front of her, resting on his haunches and leveling his gaze. He lifted his paw, his red iris glowing just as brightly in the morning as she remembered it glowing at night. Emma took a deep breath, lifted her hand and, just as Graham had several nights ago, closed her fingers tightly around his paw.

The group looked on, waiting on tenterhooks as Emma's eyes fell closed and her head jerked upwards. She was having another vision, that much was certain. But Philip and Aladdin especially were starting to worry at the frequency of these psychic connections she kept making. Yesterday, Aladdin had seen what he now understood to have been her failed attempt to learn anything useful from Rumpelstiltskin back at the shop. Instead 'Stiltskin's touch seemed to have triggered even more questions about the imp's past. Philip had inadvertently shown her way more information about his own past than he'd ever intended and filled the savior's mind with more confusions about witches and sorceresses and storybooks and kings. Now, after what they could only assume was a rather emotional reunion with her father, Emma was actively _seeking _a vision from a _wolf_, one that would no doubt show her son in imminent danger and prompt her to be further burdened.

So it was with a measure of suspense and just a hint of worry as they waited for the seer to see what she needed. But when Emma opened her eyes, she made no sudden movements, demonstrated no sense of being thrown back into the present or jostled awake as they'd seen previously. In fact, Emma Swan looked…calm. Almost regal…like the wolf. She stood up and they watched her rise, turn, and look over the group that was anxiously gathered before her.

Emma's eyes passed over Snow, Granny, Red. Philip and Trent. Happy and Grumpy, Aladdin, Jasmine…and finally Michael, Marco and Archie. "I've seen them," she said quietly, her gaze fixed intensely upon Michael especially.

Michael sprung forward from his place by the wall of the cavern. "_Them, _you mean the kids? You've seen my kids?"

Emma nodded and the group broke into hushed murmurs of excitement. "Your kids, mine…" she glanced at Marco. "_All _our kids."

Marco tore the cap from his head and held it to his heart as Archie clapped a hand on his shoulder. "M-my boy…I mean… 'Geppetto's boy'?"

Again she nodded, then addressed the rest of the crowd. "Regina's got them under lock and key in the forest in some kind of…old boarding school or something." Her eyes rested on Snow's. "You were right – Peter Pan, the Lost Boys…dozens of kids all missing from the town."

Snow nodded, having been told as much by the wolf herself.

"Well what are we waiting for?" cried Michael, stumbling toward the animal. In his haste he almost fell forward, but Red caught him mid stride and helped him back up. "Can he lead us to them?" Michael asked, easing himself off of Red's shoulders.

Emma gulped. The wolf had shown her everything – everything that had happened, everything that _would _happen. It was a brilliant plan, concocted by none other than the head of Operation Cobra himself – what a joy to see her son not only safe for the moment, but standing before a half-dozen older boys all pledging in him their faith and trust. If only Emma could place that much faith and trust in herself—

"_Trust your gut"_ a voice echoed in her head. Emma started, an image bursting forth in her mind. Again, not a vision, just a memory: back at the library, Graham's life fading away in her arms. _"Follow the wolf…Trust your gut…Love your family" – _the sheriff's parting words. _Follow the wolf_, she thought with a frown. But it wouldn't be Emma who would follow the wolf. No, she knew that now. For that wasn't her fate. There was so much to do. _Too_ much to do. And though she was only just starting to understand it all, though she'd only been granted bits and pieces, she knew enough. And if she was truly to become this savior—

Another image flashed before her, her father: _You've got a lot of people back there helping you…and now, you have me…trust yourself Emma, and don't lose faith. _She glanced around at the entire group before her and took a deep breath. Yes, it was finally making sense. It had taken the serenity of Graham's wolf and a pep talk from her own father to know it, but she could finally see: she _couldn't _be in three places at once…but she had an army of people before her, ready to fight for their world, ready to save those they loved. It was time to get to work…now.

"Michael?" she said at last. "You _are _gonna follow him. In fact, you're gonna leave right now. The kids are counting on it. They're mounting an escape and they need someone on the outside for their plan to work." Snow stood up, watching intently as her daughter continued. "Red," Emma went on, looking to her new friend. "You can understand the wolf, can't you?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question.

Red nodded. "I'm a little rusty, but yes."

"Good, you and Michael follow him through the forest. He'll let you know what needs to be done."

"What about me, Miss Swan?" Marco stepped forward, his eyes brimming with tears upon hearing the news that _all _the children were to be rescued. "I-if there's even a chance that…that m-my boy…that I could remember—"

"Yes, they'll need you too," Emma replied.

"In that case, count me in," said Archie, standing firmly behind Marco.

"No my friend, you should stay—"

Archie just laughed. "If you think I'm gonna let you go looking for _Pinocchio _without _Jiminy Cricket?_ I should prescribe you some more therapy—"

"Gentlemen," huffed Emma, impatiently. In truth, she hadn't seen Archie or Marco in her vision, but she knew the boys would need all the help she could send them. "Go, and be careful."

"We should stock up on weapons below, to be safe," said Red. The rest of her party nodded and followed her back into the caverns. Emma turned to those who were left.

"Jasmine," she said next, and the princess nodded, stepping forward. Emma glanced at the passageway behind her. "Go and get Ella and then head for this…Ugly…Duckling…place. Find Ariel – or 'Marina' or whatever. Stick close to her and try to explain about the curse."

"There's no way she'll believe us," Jasmine argued, jamming her thumb back toward Aladdin. "_I _didn't even believe _him _until I was beating up Honest John."

"I know, but your," she waved an appraising hand at the princess, "your Kung-fu butt-kicking stuff is _why_ I want you there. Ariel's probably the most at risk next to Adam right now for giving into Regina since they already have Eric. I want _us _to find her before they do. Protect her, even if she resists, until we can get everything ready to wake her."

Jasmine nodded, suppressing a smirk at having her wealth of combat training referred to as 'Kung-fu butt-kicking stuff'. She disappeared into the cavern.

"I'll go with her," said Aladdin who also started forward. But Emma's hand flew up to stop him.

"No," she said. "You, I need with me."

"What?"

"The portal, the one I'm supposed to open with this?" she reached into her pocket and pulled out the soulodestone. "My father told me _you _would know how."

Aladdin sighed, "I'm sorry Emma. I already said, I have no idea what a soulodestone has to do with—"

"Yeah, but I'm betting a guy, who spent a lot of time with a genie and a magic lamp, knows a thing or two about portals. So we're gonna pay a little visit to the person who _made _these," she palmed the stone again, "and find out how the two go together."

"In that case, you should take me too, Emma," said Philip stepping forward. "I know old Effie better than anyone here."

Aladdin glanced between the two of them and stifled a laugh as Emma blushed and pointedly _ignored_ the rather smug grin on the young king's face. Actually, she had planned on Philip joining them for just that reason…but she wasn't about to tell _him _that. "All right, you _and _Trent will go with us to the hospital." She was about to turn to Snow, but paused and glanced back. "That _is _where we'll find her right?"

Philip nodded. "Before the curse hit, she said she'd somehow make sure Aurora and I would know who she was. It's probably why she's a nurse at a hospital, since I ended up a medic and Aurora's an OB. Which means 'Maeve' will make sure she's where _we_ think she'll be."

Emma blinked, a little delayed in grasping Philip's logic, but nodded at last and replied, "I'll take that as a yes. Trent? Are you with us?"

She looked past the king to the still-cursed duke whose expression by the minute had grown more and more dizzying. On the other hand, this was the face of 'Matt Clancy' before him who, jealousy aside, was still his partner and had been since…well, since as long as he could remember.

"What the hell," Trent threw his hands up in the air and nodded. "You can't _all _be crazy."

"Will you also be counting me on this little party of yours, dear?" said Granny with a grin, clearing her throat and patting her crossbow like older women normally pet cats. Emma practically snorted at the sight of it – had she had that thing up here the entire time?

"Actually, Granny, someone's gotta stay here with Christopher to look after Thomas and Mo. Not to mention the baby. Ella told me you watch her a lot?"

"Indeed I do," said the woman proudly, and without another word, grabbed Grumpy by the arm and dragged the dwarf downstairs, arguing all the way that Princess Emma hadn't actually given _him _an assignment yet. Happy followed soon after, chuckling behind them.

That left Snow and the wolf, still standing by the vine-covered opening to the caverns. Philip cleared his throat and nodded the other men toward the cottage. "We'll head down and grab a few things too, Emma. Meet you back up here."

Emma nodded gratefully as they started down the stone staircase, leaving her alone with her mother, a woman now beaming almost brighter than a blue corn moon. The young deputy glanced down and shuffled her feet, startled upon seeing the wolf still sitting there. She cleared her throat, glancing between him and Snow. "Does he um…" she rasped. "Do you think he knows?"

Snow offered a sad smile. "About Graham? Yes. I told him."

Emma nodded again, wondering why she suddenly felt embarrassed. Maybe it was because Snow was staring at her with the same look in her eyes that James had had. And maybe she just hoped she'd finally put on a good show of strength for the woman whose own strength was ten times her own.

Snow was indeed bursting with pride, but she'd learned not to overwhelm her daughter with maternal sentiment – not just yet anyway. "Well your Highness?" she said with a teasing grin. "Where do you want _me_?"

Emma sighed in relief, unable to hide her grin. Taking one last deep breath, she explained the rest to Snow. "You said when you were at Gold's yesterday, you recognized a lot of those trinkets and stuff he'd collected."

Snow nodded. "Even more in his back room than he had out front."

"Do you remember seeing," Emma paused, closing her eyes and going back to her original vision – "do you remember some kind of shell? A golden shell on a chain?"

Snow glanced upwards, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip as she recalled the wall behind the front counter in Gold's shop. "Yes!" she said at last, remembering it vividly.

Emma smiled again. "Good. I think it's something…or at least it _seemed_ important to Ariel. I'm pretty sure we're gonna need it to wake them both up."

Snow smirked, wrinkling her nose and pulling her parka up around her neck. "I'll take Grumpy and some of the other boys. Their itching for something to do."

Emma nodded in agreement and the two of them stood there as a sudden chill had them shivering; both finally seemed to realize they'd been standing out in the cold for at least a half hour now. In the silence, Emma looked back at the wolf, wondering if he felt pain, if he felt grief. She remembered Graham telling her that his 'wolf name' meant _Last Son_ and thought it likely that the wolf's heart was breaking for both of them.

"Emma," Snow spoke, again just above a whisper. Emma met her gaze. "I'm so proud of you."

She shook her head and looked away. _Just like Dad_, she thought. Not yet. Please not yet. She hadn't _done _anything yet. "For what?" she managed.

"I know how much it's killing you that _you _aren't the one going after Henry."

Emma's gaze darted back up. How did she—but one look in her mother's knowing eyes was answer enough. Of _course_ Snow could sense that. She was her _mother_. "Yeah well," she scuffed her boots against the frozen ground. "Regina's not calling for _Michael Tillman's _head on a platter. She wants_ me_. Can't risk not being here."

"Can't be in three places at once?" Snow countered, taking another step forward.

Again, Emma started. Sheesh, was it _just _animal minds Snow could read? Or was she reading _hers_? "Something like that."

"Your father would be proud of you too," Snow added, now standing before her. Cautiously, she placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders.

"Yeah," Emma laughed nervously. "He _is_ actually. At least, that's what he told me."  
>Snow grinned. "I'm not surprised."<p>

They stood there a moment more, and then Emma finally broke first, folding the two of them into a tight hug. "I promised I'd find him, Mom," she whispered.

Snow squeezed her eyes shut, staying the tears as she held her sweet girl close. "And you will."

"What if I can't, though?" she pulled back. "What if we're too late?"

Snow shook her head, her heart full of faith, and suddenly knew what it was like to be James – _this _is what he'dbeen showing her all along. That never-wavering optimism that sometimes bordered on annoying when Snow would express doubt or worry– Snow had never understood until this moment where he always summoned such conviction. But she knew now, and sweet Gods above, it was wonderful. "If there's one thing us 'Charmings' are good at, Emma, it's _finding _each other. It's what we do. It's what you were _born _to do." Emma nodded, still holding tightly to her mother's arms as Snow gave her a final squeeze. "Now come on," she said, nodding toward the cavern. "Let's get to work."

…

Michael Tillman wasn't about to let a sore leg stand in the way of finally being able to locate his kids – kids whom, granted, he'd only seen pictures of, but they were _his _kids, nonetheless – kids whose photos had saved him from insanity down in that basement library dungeon and spurred him and his new friends on toward their first stop.

"You ok?" the young woman asked beside him, a beautiful young woman in fact whom he remembered from Granny's diner back in town. 'Ruby', he thought it was back then. Of course, everyone here called her Red.

"I'm fine. Quit asking me," he grumbled, wincing as he climbed over a downed tree.

Red huffed, withdrawing her hand from Michael's shoulder. "Sure," she retorted. "Whatever you say."

She started to walk away when Michael stopped her. "Sorry," he said quickly. She turned and faced him as Marco and Archie emerged from the caverns, donned in some warmer clothing and each carrying an assortment of pick axes and shovels. "I didn't…I'm sorry I snapped."

Red instantly softened. "It's fine, Kurtis," she smiled, returning to his side. "I know how much you wanna get moving."

"Kurtis," Michael grunted. "Why do you and Granny keep calling me that?"

"Oh," Red looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry, that's just…your name. Granny and I have known you for years."

His head shot up as Marco and Archie joined them and Archie handed him a walking stick he'd found on the path. "You have?"

Red surveyed the rest of the group, only just realizing she was the only one (save for the wolf of course) who was actually awake from the curse. _Oh boy,_ she thought as she took a deep breath. "All of you, actually." She turned back to Michael. "You and your kids were frequent visitors to our inn. Your Gretel would help Granny in the kitchen every fall with the pear harvest while you taught Hansel how to clip and trim the trees and hedges. And you," she turned to Archie, "well, you were a bit…smaller back then," she smirked as Archie blushed beneath his wire-rimmed glasses. "But every bit as wise. You and Geppetto – or um, Marco – were part of New Gaia's war council. We met," she paused and looked away, remembering those final weeks. "We met frequently during the days leading up to the curse." She glanced back at Geppetto and offered another small smile. "You never came to a meeting without Pinocchio. He was always by your side."

The three men stood before her, all suppressing some degree of embarrassment. Archie and Marco had both gotten somewhat more used to others sharing recollections of 'Jiminy' and 'Geppetto', but it was no less unsettling for them than it was for Michael to know there were still whole chapters of their lives they were missing. Red, seeming to sense this collective discomfort, took another deep breath. "Look, I know I'm just 'Ruby' to you right now, and you have no idea what the heck I'm talking about—"

"Oh no dear, it's not that," Marco tried, fearing he'd appeared ungrateful.

"But to me, _you_ haven't changed a bit. You're still fiercely devoted to finding your kids," she pointed at Michael, "however _this _world made you act toward them at first, you're still 100% committed despite the doubts you have right that you'll make a good father."

Michael gaped. "How did you—"

"And _you_," she turned to Archie, "in 62 years haven't once left Geppetto's side."

Archie's jaw dropped. "62 years?"

"And Geppetto?" she grinned at the old man, "Your love for your son was powerful enough to turn a puppet into a _real _boy. Emma may be powerful, but _everyone _here has magic." Her speech did the trick, and everyone straightened up with a nod, ready to work. "Akela!" she called to the wolf who was still perched beside the entrance with Emma. The two of them headed over and the wolf trotted in front of her. "Ready?" she asked him. He blinked at her in agreement, their communication somewhat different from Snow's since Red actually had to tap into the wolf inside _her _to understand Akela's reply.

"Akela?" Emma turned to her as the men started toward the forest after him.

Red nodded. "The closest translation, here," she replied. "It means…Lone Wolf."

Emma gulped. "Lone wolf," she sighed. The very last of his pack now that Graham was gone.

Red placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "He's ok, Emma," she said. "Wolves…they grieve differently than we do. Trust me, he can't _wait _to fulfill this mission because it's what Graham wanted him to do. Completing that task is the best way for him to…honor the loss."

Emma sighed and gave her a nod. "You know where you're going right? What you have to do?"

Red rolled her eyes in a good-natured sort of way. "Stop worrying. We've got this, Emma. Head to the first wishing well—"

"The one that returns what's lost," Emma confirmed.

The girl smiled, "Yes, the one that returns what's lost. It's the only way we'll get through the barrier without forgetting who or where we are."

"And then?"

Another patient smile. "Then it's on to Operation Cobra," she said.

Emma looked away, toward the deeper end of the forest where the men and Akela were already a good 50 feet off.

"Emma," Red said softly, giving her another reassuring squeeze. "That boy of yours is a tough kid. He's gonna be fine. And we're gonna bring him back…I promise."

The savior, at last, knew she must let go, for Aladdin, Trent and Philip were re-emerging from the caverns themselves. She had her own mission now, and neither could afford to lose any more time. "Good luck Red," she managed. "And…thanks."

She shook her head as she adjusted her red cloak about her shoulders. "Thank _you_."

Emma started to turn then remembered something. "Oh!" she spun back around. "Do you have that…the _other _thing?"

Red flashed her that spunky grin Emma was already getting to know well. "Right here," she said, opening her cloak to reveal a rather large, leather satchel hooked inside. "Snow knew right where it was."

"Emma," she heard, and jumped as Philip appeared beside her, holding out her coat. She blinked for a moment, then remembered, shrugging Philip's jacket off her shoulders and exchanging it for her own. "Ready?" he asked, holding out her gun and holster once she'd bundled back up.

Emma nodded as she slipped the gun belt around her waist and glanced back at Red. "Be careful," she called after her.

Red couldn't help but let out a little chuckle as their groups headed in opposite directions. "You too," she winked, nodding toward Philip.

Emma rolled her eyes…and they were off.

…

Ordinarily, Snow disliked the sound of arguing, but she had to admit that it warmed her soul upon re-entering the cottage to find Christopher insisting that Ella _stay _with his son rather than leave him. They were speaking in hushed but fierce whispers as Jasmine waited impatiently by the door, tapping her foot up and down on the stone landing. "What's the problem?" Snow muttered to the Arabian princess.

Jasmine rolled her eyes, nodding toward the bed in the far corner. "Christopher's…not happy."

Snow sighed and walked over to two dwarf beds that had been pushed together where, she had to admit, lay a sight far too precious to want to part from. Exhausted, no doubt, from having been almost killed by Jafar, having watched his wife attacked by her stepsisters, saved his daughter from being kidnapped, and turned Rodmilla into shish kebab, Thomas was _sound _asleep, stirring not once as the cottage filled with those retrieving supplies and hurrying off again.

The prince's head was propped up on a pile of old pillows, and his left arm was wrapped again in bandages, held to his side by a sling. Wrapped in his right arm, however, lay Alexandra, also sleeping peacefully, little fistfuls of his tee-shirt clasped in her tiny hands. With every deep breath, little Alex rose and fell on her daddy's chest, and Snow's eyes nearly welled with tears at the sight of it.

"You said yourself you just got this family back together," Christopher was saying as she drew closer. "_Stay _here with Thomas and let me go with Jasmine.

"Jasmine and I _know _Ariel, your Majesty—"

"_Christopher_—"

"We've both _met _her and stand a better chance of getting through to her than you do."

"But—"

"Besides," Ella continued as she slipped her coat over her shoulders, "Thomas needs you _here _to help Granny look after the Alex and the cottage." She placed her hands in his and squeezed tight. "_I _need you down here. If you're here with Thomas and the baby, I know you're all safe, and it makes my job that much easier."

"She's right, Christopher," Snow offered, gripping the bed post as she came around its corner to join them. "We _all _work better when our loved ones are with those we trust."

Christopher sighed. "No offense, Snow, but your daughter sent Ella on the most dangerous mission of all!" he hissed so loud, Alex stirred. "Emma's right. Ariel is the _most _at risk for capture right now if she hasn't been already and—"

"She won't be alone, Christopher," said Jasmine, trying to mask her impatience with reason. "She'll have all the back up she needs, I assure you."

Again, Christopher scoffed his retort. "Jasmine, your combat knowledge is, of course, well known but if Regina sends an _army_ to capture Ariel then—"

"They won't be alone," Snow grabbed his shoulder and turned him toward her. "Listen. Ella and Jasmine must leave _now. _As you said, they may already be _too _late. But if there's a chance of getting to her before _they _do, who better than your daughter-in-law to show her the way, Christopher? Think about her own journey, her own awakening." Christopher sighed, glancing down at his son's wife. "No one understands the fear, the uncertainty 'Marina Andersen' is feeling right now more than Ella. But she's right," Snow flashed Ella a smile which her friend returned with immense gratitude. "She'll only be of use to Ariel if she knows _you're _here, looking after her family."

The king shook his head, glancing between the three women and knowing he'd already lost. Guardians of magic indeed…Helios had chosen well. "What do I tell him when he wakes up?"

Ella sighed as she stepped back toward her husband, smiled and bent down to place a soft kiss on his forehead. "Tell him…I went for a walk."

…

It was a much shorter walk back to the library than Emma had anticipated, given how long it seemed they'd been away from the center of Storybrooke. Since the hospital was clear across town, in the total opposite direction of the forest, Philip had suggested they return to the lot where both his truck and Emma's buggy were hopefully still parked. Philip could retrieve the tools and makeshift weaponry he still had in his fire gear, and Emma would have access to the rest of her ammo (and the second gun she had stashed in her trunk). It was a relatively quiet walk for the most part, with Aladdin up ahead trying as best he could to answer Trent's many questions without freaking the poor guy out too much more. Emma and Philip trailed behind.

"You think Maeve will know how to use these like I…" Emma paused as Philip caught her gaze. "How to use these…the way I saw in my vision?" she finished, looking down at the stone in her hand.

He shrugged. "Like you said, they're _her _design," he reminded her. "If anyone will know, she will." When Emma didn't respond, Philip's brow furrowed. "It's a good plan, Emma."

"You think we'll…run into more trouble?" she asked after a few more awkward beats. "Like we did with Whale?"

"Not if I can help it, we won't," he said, looking starkly ahead of them.

Emma glanced back up at him. "You don't…need to _protect _me, you know."

Philip's head shot down. "What?!"

His tone only put her further on the defensive. "I'm not a…damsel in distress, or something. I'm not a princess in a tower."

Philip stopped in his tracks and held her back, letting Aladdin and Trent get further away. "You really think I don't know that?"

"I don't know _what _you're thinking, Philip," she hissed, placing the stone back into her pocket (she definitely didn't want to chance her father hearing the rest of _this _conversation). "I don't know what _I _was thinking, frankly."

"When?" he countered. "When you kissed me?"

"When _you _kissed _me,_" she corrected him.

The conviction with which she made this distinction was so forced, he actually laughed. "You know, you've been _glaring _at me like that ever since I woke up, and I can only think of two reasons why. One, you didn't _like _kissing me – " he paused and flashed her a grin so charming, it almost weakened her knees – "and I think we _both _know _that's _not true, or two – " he paused again, and this time his smile faded – "you're scared."

Emma turned sharply away and resumed her walk. "I am _not _scared."

"Aren't you?" he rushed after her, falling into step. "True love's kiss, Emma. That's kind of a big deal."

"Maybe not," she said hurriedly.

"Maybe _not?!_"

"Maybe it _wasn't_ true love's kiss. Or maybe it was for 'Matt Clancy' and now—"

"And now what?" he stopped her again, his voice loud enough to make Aladdin and Trent stop. "Keep going!" he yelled, glaring at his friend. "We'll catch up!" Aladdin rolled his eyes, taking the hint. The king turned back to the savior. "Now that I'm Philip again, I don't love you anymore?"

Emma shrugged out of his grasp and stood her ground. "Will you listen to yourself?" she said, determined to keep her head in control this time instead of her heart. "_Love _me? You just _met _me two _days _ago. You stopped me from _shooting _someone yesterday. You helped me _bury _the _sheriff_—"

"And your parents fell in love killing a clan of _trolls_, Emma. Stranger things have happened."

"Stranger things?" she scoffed, backing away from him and shaking her head. She really didn't want to have this conversation. There wasn't time for it. There wasn't time for it _then _when she'd caved to the pressure of her own vision. And this certainly wasn't the place now. "I'm in…I…I _kissed_ one of my _father's _friends. That's not _strange_ enough for you?"

Philip sighed. Yes, there was _that_. "Ok," he conceded, "I admit. That part is...weird. But—"

"And I'm sorry," she went on, wiping her palm across her forehead, "but…you are…actually _married_ to Aurora right? She's…your queen?"

Philip swallowed hard, his smile fading completely. "That's…not fair," he rasped, his voice suddenly so penetrating that Emma's heart jumped. "You _know_ my marriage is a sham."

"What I _know_ is that you agreed to keep Lucas's secret," she said, advancing on him, hating that she sounded so judgmental. After all, Philip had been forced into the deception. But she couldn't help it. He _had _agreed to it. And from the moment he'd awoken, it had been gnawing at her – she'd already made the mistake once in her life of falling for a married man. And here she was making the same mistake. "You tricked that poor girl into thinking _you _were the one who loved her and—"

Philip outright guffawed at her retort. "_Poor girl_?" he laughed, cutting her off. "The 'poor girl' who put her entire kingdom at risk on the off chance that her infamously _evil _aunt wasn't _really _evil, _just _to avoid an arranged marriage? _That _poor girl?"

Emma's eyebrows flew up on her forehead. How could he be making light of this? After everything she knew? "But she—"

"Emma," he said patiently, trying not to sound too condescending. "What exactly…did you see?"

She gulped, studiously avoiding his, once again, intense gaze. "I saw…I saw Lucas tell you about his family, about his parents."

"Ok? And?"

"And he made you swear never to tell Aurora," she thought back to her vision, now several visions _ago_ and blurring together with the others. "He…woke her up with true love's kiss and then you took his place. Convinced her that it was you all along…that you had a wedding to finish."

"And that's it?" he smiled. Why the hell was he smiling?

"Well, yeah," she said. "The…the vision ended. The story was…over?"

Philip sighed, dropping his forehead into his palm. "Well," he sucked in a breath and resumed his walk. "I guess seers don'tsee _everything_."

For some reason, Emma felt like she'd just been slapped. "What is _that _supposed to mean?" she called after him, her tone demanding that he explain himself.

And he did. "I did convince her we had a wedding to finish," he replied, stalking back to her. "And she agreed. We went back to the courtyard, we got married, signed the deal, secured the treaty for our kingdoms, rode back to Braemar," he swept his hand behind him, as if gesturing to his now very faraway kingdom. "And when we got there…" he sighed and took a deep breath, "I told her everything."

Emma's face went numb. "What?!"

He shook his head, urging her to fall in step so they could catch up to Aladdin. "I told her the truth, Emma. I told her about Lucas and his family, about the kiss, all of it."

"You broke your promise to Lucas?"

"It was better than breaking his heart," he said gravely, and something inside Emma's own heart melted to pieces. "I wasn't about to…" he struggled, shoving his hands inside his pockets, "I couldn't…_live _with her as husband and wife, knowing what I knew."

Emma looked away, her breath hitching in her throat. "What…um…what'd she say?"

At this he chuckled. "Oh gods, she was furious. Slapped me in the face."

Emma snorted. "She did?!"

"Mmm hmm," he said, almost fondly. "Tore down the stairs, ran to the stables, stole my _horse_…and rode all the way to Glowerhaven that night."

"Did she find him?"

Philip shook his head. "Lucas knew me too well even then. I think deep down he knew I wouldn't keep my promise, but he was betting I would keep it long enough…for him to disappear. And he was right. The duke never returned to Glowerhaven after that, Emma," he said softly, for they were catching up to Aladdin and 'Trent'. "The gentry informed Aurora that he'd taken…" he glanced over at 'Trent' and sighed, "an indefinite leave of absence."

Emma swallowed the enormous lump in her throat, her too looking at Trent - oblivious to this rather epic romance he had no idea he was at the center of. "What'd she do?"

The king sighed as they neared the edge of the forest. "Eventually she came back to Braemar, agreed to continue the charade for the sakes of our kingdoms. We ruled together…but separately. As friends. After a few months, Doc helped us circulate a story about how she was medically unable to have children so people wouldn't…wonder."

"_Doc?_" Emma gaped at him. "_Doc _knows about all of this?"

He grinned. "Not _all _of it. But you'd be surprised how seriously that little dwarf respects doctor-patient confidentiality."

Emma shook her head, in awe of how much more there was to these stories. So much more than her visions revealed…_eons_ more than there was in Henry's book. She felt like she needed to…apologize, or…something, but as she turned to speak, Aladdin jogged over and cleared his throat.

"Still wanna take both cars?" he asked, a sly smirk on his face that told Emma that Storybrooke's resident thief had a pretty good idea of what they were talking about.

"Yes," Philip answered, then turned to her with one of his disarming grins. "And I'll take Trent in my truck. I've talked Miss Swan's ear off enough already." He looked back at Aladdin. "Be good," he warned his old Arabian friend. Then he winked at Emma, and before she could object, he was crossing the lot.

…

Aladdin offered to drive, but after the day Emma had had, she was desperately in need of doing _something _familiar, and the prospect of settling behind the wheel of her good ol' yellow buggy felt nothing short of cathartic.

Philip had said there was a back way to the hospital that was less likely to be watched by Regina's eyes and ears about town. The street rat sitting beside her had remained annoyingly silent as Philip pulled his truck out of his space and she followed behind them. Finally, Emma snapped.

"What?"

"What what?"

"Why are you just…sitting there…chuckling to yourself?"

Aladdin feigned ignorance. "I'm not chuckling. I'm just…wondering about something."

"Yeah well, enlighten me," she said as she turned onto the dirt road behind Philip' truck.

"Well," Aladdin harrumphed, folding his arms over his chest. "If you can just…wake people up by touching them on the shoulder, why didn't you wake up Trent before we left?"

Emma turned and glared at him.

"You know, take those gloves off? Give 'im a high five? I mean…since that's how you woke up Philip, of course."

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes, remembering now how adamantly Aladdin had insisted even back in the woods that she'd been stretching the truth. It did bring to mind why Emma had wanted Aladdin with her on this particular leg of the mission in the first place. She shrugged and figured she might as well get to it. "So how _did_ you know?"

"Know what?"

"Oh knock it off!" she griped. "How did you know that I …that Philip…didn't wake up the way you did."

Aladdin grinned. "I didn't until a few seconds ago…at least not for _sure _anyway." She shot him a look and then he _did _chuckle. "Call it a hunch, ok? I've seen women look at Philip the way you do." Emma blushed and turned back to the road, shaking her head as she reached inside her pocket. "Although," he added, "I've never actually seen _Philip _looking the same way, so…you must have done something right."

"Aladdin," she huffed impatiently, "I know it wasn't a _hunch _and I know it wasn't me and Philip making…making goo-goo eyes at each other, ok? Jasmine said back at the wishing well that you'd had a _theory_," she spared him a glance from the road, glaring at him pointedly. "And I'm betting that _theory _has everything to do with why _my_ fatherthinks _you _are the one who knows how to turn this," she pulled the soulodestone from her pocket, "into a portal. Now enough jokes," she ordered him. "Tell me what you know."

Aladdin took a deep breath, knowing he could no longer put it off, but not entirely sure the savior was ready for yet another revelation of this magnitude. After all, what he knew, or at least, what he thought he knew…changed everything. "It _is _just a theory," he stressed, "and it honestly has way more to do with you and _me_ than it does with Philip."

Emma started. "You and me?"

He sighed. "I think you were able to wake _me _so much easier than the others…because of what I believe you and I have in common."

Emma cocked an eyebrow, throwing him another sideways glance as she turned down Main Street. "Which is?"

Aladdin turned sideways in his seat and braced his hand on the dashboard. "A shared destiny."

Emma's head started pounding and she shook her head. "A shared destiny. Great. Why do I feel like this has some sort of massive back story?"

Aladdin laughed. He _liked _this girl. "Doesn't everything?"

"A shared destiny," she repeated. "So…what, you and I are _both _destined to break the curse?"

"That's," he said cautiously, "_not…_actually…your destiny."

Emma slammed on the breaks so hard, Aladdin bumped his head on the windshield. "Ow!" he snapped as Philip's truck slowed down in front of them. "Keep going," he waved her forward, "he's gonna think something's wrong—"

"That's _NOT _my destiny?!" she practically screamed at him.

"Theory! I said it's a _theory—_"

"After _all _the shit that's happened, you're telling me—"

"Emma _please, _keep driving. I promise I'll explain, but we need to get to the hospital, and that's not gonna happen if Philip is stopping every two seconds to see why we're pulling over."

Emma jammed the gear back into drive and vroomed forward, signaling Philip to continue on. "Spill," she said, "Now."

Aladdin took another deep breath – yep, he _definitely _should have insisted he drive. "I'm sorry," he said. "Let me start again. Of _course_, you have to break the curse. And you're _so_ close to it now with only one guardian to go, but 'Stiltskin…well, whether he didn't _know_ or just didn't mention it because he's '_Stiltskin_, the imp didn't give you the whole picture."

"Well _that _doesn't surprise me," she snorted, and he relaxed.

"Me either," he agreed and began again. "How much…do you know about…_my _story."

She sighed, impatiently. "I dunno. The gist of it, I guess. I know how you ended up in Agrabah, how Philip helped pardon you, your deal with Jasmine, how she fought for her throne."

"What do you know about…Genie? And the lamp?"

Emma frowned. She was of course familiar with the cartoon she'd seen as a kid, and had assumed there was some measure of truth to it since Rumpelstiltskin had _given _him a lamp back at the police station. But frankly, she'd stopped reading the actual book before she got to that part. Henry's voice flashed in her mind: _just read the stupid book!_ She sighed. "Not much."

"Well," Aladdin chuckled, "get ready for your back story."

Emma rolled her eyes, "Oh, just give me the cliff notes will ya? I don't know how much more _information_ I can take right now."

He smiled, "I'll do my best." Aladdin launched into as abbreviated a version as he could about what had happened just before Jasmine's final ascension challenge was to commence with Razoul. He'd been approached by Jafar, the sultan's royal vizier and, at the time, little more than an annoying nobleman to the renowned street rat. The ghoulish looking advisor had expressed a desire for Aladdin's 'help' in procuring something very special that he had lost in the desert. "He said he'd needed a 'young, able-bodied man' for heavy lifting," Aladdin told her as he rolled his eyes, remembering his foolish naiveté. "I figured it couldn't hurt my case any if I helped out the sultan's top advisor so I went along…It wasn't until we arrived at the Cave of Wonders that I knew what he was really after."

"The Cave of Wonders?"

Aladdin explained: Every Arabian child knew about the Cave of Wonders – a place of temptation, of sorcery, of treasures and secrets. Mothers, Aladdin's included, mostly told stories about the Cave of Wonders to warn little boys off from the temptations of falling in with Agrabah's many criminal gangs. But as with most tall tales, Aladdin had always assumed it was a myth…that is until Jafar brought him to its doorstep.

Jafar had explained that he wanted a lamp, a magic lamp that could unleash the most powerful magical being known to man: a genie. "When I told him to get it himself, he said he couldn't," Aladdin went on. "He wasn't _worthy _or something; it wasn't his destiny. I told him I didn't care – that I wouldn't get mixed up in something like that. But Jafar…" Aladdin paused and looked down, clenching his fists. "Jafar had somehow found out about me and Jasmine…and I wasn't about to let him use meagainst her_. _Not when she was so close to earning her right to rule. So," he shook his head, remembering his stupidity, his moment of weakness, "I agreed to enter the cave. And that's when he told me…what I was. What I am. And now I'm telling you," he added, causing her again to slow down the car and glance over warily.

"What?"

"Diamonds," he said, "in the rough."

Emma's eyes widened as she mocked him in disbelief, "Diamonds in the rough?"

"At least that's what my people call them. I've heard other terms: Chosen One, Child of Destiny, Gatekeeper—"

"What _is _it?" she implored.

Another deep breath: "One person, born into every generation…destined to affect magic beyond his own realm, and to open doors between worlds." He spoke slowly, letting every word sink in as he watched her face screw up in frustration. "I'm _my_ generation's chosen one," he added softly. "And you're next in line."

She shook her head. "These are _not…_cliff notes."

Aladdin chuckled. "I know, it's a lot, but think about what 'Stiltskin said back the shop. The third wishing well, the one that _can open a door_?" he reminded her.

Emma followed his reasoning, remembering now the bits of that conversation she'd actually been hoping to clear up. She gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and concentrated. "It's supposed to rise when we wake the sixth guardian…the third realm."

"Right, and _that's _where the door will be. The door _you _are destined to open. The one that will lead everyone back from this world, to ours."

Emma was quiet for a few moments, trying yet again to process another piece of this extraordinarily complex puzzle. Strangely though, she wasn't quite as frustrated as she'd been in the past. No, this time…she wanted more. She needed to know everything.

"So the door that _you _were supposed to open, that was the Cave of Wonders?"

Aladdin winced. It was a good guess, but— "No," he said.

"Uhhhhgh!" Emma threw her hands up and rolled her eyes.

"You're close though," he said, supportively. "The Cave only _knows _who the diamond in the rough _is_. The door _I _can open? _That_, Emma, is the lamp."

Emma let out another sigh as she followed Philip's lead down a side street and made another turn. "More back story?" she quipped.

He grinned. "More back story. See, the lamp isn't a vessel," he explained. "No genie actually lives _in _there. The lamp is just the doorway…to the genie _world_. And _that _is what Jafar wanted to get his hands on."

"How could he do that though, if _you're _the diamond in the rough?"

Aladdin grimaced, remembering just how artful he discovered the sultan's advisor to be. "Jafar was a very powerful sorcerer. And he was obsessed with genie magic. He'd devoted his whole life to harnessing their power and had devised a way to transfer _control _of the genie to the one who possessed the lamp. Once the door was opened, power could reside with anyone who actually _held_ the lamp."

"And…the genie _world_?" Emma asked, trying to stay with him.

He sighed. "The ultimate prize. See, I eventually learned from _my _genie what Jafar had spent his life studying. Centuries ago, genies reigned over our world just like the gods and goddesses of old. Helios, Circe, Poseidon, Zeus – they were no more or less powerful than genies. Magic as a result was rampant, and both sides were interested in helping mankind learn to function and share that kind of power."

"Right," Emma said, this part sounding familiar. "But like 'Stiltskin said, mortals starting abusing their power and the balance between good and dark magic—"

"Could no longer be maintained, exactly."

"Which is why they came up with the guardians in the first place and left your world, right?" she went on, constructing more of the puzzle.

Aladdin nodded, watching her almost like James had an hour ago – impressed by how much she really had learned. In fact, the savior knew and understood much more than she gave herself credit for. He didn't have to be the girl's father to see _that._

"So," she asked cautiously, "what does that have to do with the genies?"

"They…didn't agree."

"Didn't _agree_?"

"With the gods. Genies _liked _our world. They liked mankind. They liked the culture, the music…the women. Plus, genies were notorious tricksters. They enjoyed empowering men with too _much_ magic and then watching to see how they might pit one against the other."

"I take it that didn't go over well with Helios and friends?"

"No," Aladdin said gravely, remembering when Genie first told _him _the story. "It didn't. The genies refused to leave our world – said that mankind _would _be able to control its magic eventually and they just had to be patient. They felt that creating guardians, forcing a system of checks and balances on magic, was a horrible idea, and they refused to be a part of it. And if the _genies _weren't gonna play along, what was the point?"

"So what happened?"

Aladdin shrugged, turning back to the road as the hospital drew near. "What you might expect. They argued about it for years and then eventually went to war. Obviously the gods won and were going to force the remaining genies to join them in leaving our world behind. But out of respect for the centuries of friendship they'd enjoyed beforehand, they reached a compromise."

"The lamp?" Emma guessed.

He nodded. "And their world. The gods and goddesses helped the genies construct a separate world _within _our own, with the caveat that only those who were…truly _worthy_ could open the door."

"Diamonds in the rough," she arched an eyebrow.

Aladdin smiled. "Diamonds in the rough. _That's _the world Jafar tried to control. And I'm _pretty _sure that's why Rumpelstiltskin just _gave _me the lamp and then sent Honest John after me once he knew I'd awoken from the curse."

Emma gasped, her mind almost refusing to allow this ancient story to collide with the present. "You think 'Stiltskin is after the genies _now_ like Jafar was _then_?"

"Almost positive. It's the only power the Dark One hasn't been able to harness. _That's _his endgame Emma. Not just 'going home,'" he scoffed, using air quotes, "but going back with enough power to rule the entire world."

Emma felt the blood in her veins run cold. Going home. She _knew _it couldn't be that simple. Not with 'Stiltskin. Even if she somehow managed to find her father, defeat Regina, break the curse, reunite with Henry – how in the hell was she supposed to stop Rumpelstiltskin from doing exactly what it seemed he'd been orchestrating from day one? Especially since…she realized with another gulp…_she _still owed him a _favor_? "Why umm…" Emma grasped at straws, searching for some sort of flaw in Aladdin's theory, something that would render this newest piece to the puzzle slightly less…distressing. "Why would 'Stiltskin need genie magic in the first place? Can't he already cross between worlds? I mean, he's struck deals everywhere hasn't he? In New Gaia, in Agrabah—"

"Those are _realms_, Emma, not worlds. Not even the Dark One has the power to traverse between worlds."  
>Emma blinked as they turned into the back parking lot of the hospital. "There's a difference?" she asked, then – remembering their earlier talk of witches and sorceresses – "of course there's a difference."<p>

Aladdin gave her a light pat on the shoulder, almost feeling sorry for her. After all, the woman was practically getting a crash course here on the history of magic itself. "There are lands, there are realms, and there are worlds," he explained patiently. "Lands are like…kingdoms, regions, cities. Here, you call them states."

"Uh huh," Emma muttered, slightly dazed but still following.

"_Realms_ are a collection of those lands, governed by the same rules, the same _laws _so-to-speak of magic. The _way _magic works, or in some cases _doesn't _work, determines the boundaries of that realm. It's why someone like Rumpelstiltskin is so feared because The Dark One's magic works beyond his own realm. It's why Regina needs a whole _council_ of rogues from _different _realms to enact her curse. You with me so far?"

Emma nodded her head, pulling into a parking spot, but she wasn't quite sure she meant it.

"_This _world, Emma? The one she forced us into? As far as I can tell, it's actually only _one _realm. One set of rules – you call it _physics._ But it's made up of _thousands _of lands. It's why I think Regina _picked_ this world – not because there's no magic here but because…it's just…_big _enough for all of us. But _our _world? The one we're trying to get back to?" She nodded again, urging him to continue. "Three realms, made of only a few dozen lands. _Our _destiny is to open doors between _worlds_. In doing so, you can restore our world to its rightful place, restore our lands to their respective realms, and bring order and magic back _through _the enchanted forest where it belongs."

Emma slowly clicked the gear shift into park and turned off the engine, staring blankly ahead of her as she watched Philip and Trent get out of the truck and head over to meet them.

"Emma?" said Aladdin nervously. "You ok?"

She heaved a sigh then placed her hands back firmly on the steering wheel. "Maybe," she said, her tone a bit meeker than she'd intended, "maybe you shoulda just…stuck with the goo-goo eyes thing."

Aladdin laughed as Philip came up to his door and rapped on the window, gesturing for them to get a move on. "Well, like I said," he unlocked the door and removed his seatbelt. "It _is _just a theory."

"Right," said Emma, zipping up her coat and slipping the soulodestone back in her pocket. "And I'm just a bail bondsman."

…

"_I consider myself a reasonable merman," Triton growled at his daughter as he glided into the hidden chamber. Ariel's heart raced with panic, but she seemed unable to reply as the pulsing glow from her father's trident lit up his menacing gaze. "I set certain rules, and I expect those rules to be obeyed!"_

_Ariel tightened her grip around her coral satchel and her knuckles turned white. Oh, why had she been _so _late? Why hadn't she kept better track of the time? She'd stayed with the handsome stranger, the one his people called Eric, until almost sunrise, laying, singing, breathing beside him, praying he would awaken. She'd missed the jubilee completely and had the entire kingdom scurrying about looking for her. Of course, when she appeared hours later, descending from the surface and immediately detained by a legion of the palace guard, coming up with a convincing story seemed a futile effort. "Dad, I—"_

"_Is it _true _you rescued a _human _from drowning?"_

_The little mermaid gasped, then gulped. _How _had he found out about _that _part? "H-he would have died and—"_

_Triton rolled his eyes toward the ceiling of his daughter's mutinous treasure trove. "One less human to worry about!"_

"_You don't even know who he—"_

"_Know him? I don't have to know him!" Triton bellowed. _

"_Daddy, please listen to me," Ariel begged him, taking a deep breath as she sorted through the events of the night. "The man I saved," she started, remembering the moment just as Eric's beautiful blue eyes had finally fluttered open, the moment they were interrupted by the white, shaggy dog and the elderly gentleman from the boat. "I think…I think he was – _is _the new prince of Lochmere," she tried to explain, desperately appealing to what she hoped might be a remnant of the cooperative, diplomatic king he'd once been. "I thought if I—"_

"_Prince? Pauper? WHALER, Ariel? They're all the same! Mindless, savage, harpooning fish eaters!" his voice roared in unspeakable fury and Ariel gaped in horror at his eyes glowed red, the way they did just before he activated Poseidon's relic. "Incapable of any feeling of—" _

"_Daddy I love him!" she screamed, then immediately slapped her hand over her mouth and shrank back, afraid of the volatile reaction she anticipated. What she'd just pronounced was admittedly _insane._ But crazy as it was, Ariel knew without a shred of doubt, it was true._

"_No," Triton replied in a fierce whisper, though Ariel noticed her declaration had stunned him enough to at least dim the glow of the trident. "Have you lost your senses completely?!" he cried, gripping the handle of his weapon now almost in fear._

"_No Daddy, he—" she swallowed hard again, swimming tentatively before him. She waited for him to at least meet her gaze, for she was desperate that he believe her. "He knows…my song."_

_Triton's jaw dropped, and the color of flushed anger drained from his face, replaced by sheet-white bafflement. "He…he _what?!"

_Ariel swished her tail, propelling herself a few feet closer, and even hazarded a small smile. "He knows my _song, _Daddy," she implored him. Surely such mind-blowing information might at least bridge _some _understanding._

"_He…" Triton stammered, "He s-sang for you?"_

_Ariel bit her bottom lip, looking down. "Well, n-no, not exactly, but—"_

"_Oh Ariel," her father dropped his head into his hand and shook it sadly, almost as if the anger inside him evaporated, leaving only exasperation in its wake._

"_He _played_ it, Daddy," she insisted, swimming after him as he'd begun to turn away. "On some sort of instrument that I've…never…seenbeforeDaddystop!" she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and forced him to face her. "Please, you _must _believe me," she begged him, her eyes wide and pleading. "It was a kind of…flute I suppose, though it was shaped more like a seashell and—"_

"_A seashell?!" Triton started, almost jerking out of her grasp at the description. _

"_Yes," she said. "H-he stood on the deck of his ship, Daddy. So…so sad and alone. But when he started to play, I felt—"_

"_Was this a _golden_ seashell?!" her father demanded._

"_Y-yes?" she said, her nerves shot. How could that possibly matter?_

"_So this boy's careless and inexperienced captaining of his vessel not only put you in harm's way, but he's managed to _steal_ himself one of our ocean's most sacred relics?!"_

_Ariel staggered back. "What?! What are you—"_

"_The instrument, Ariel. The flute?!" Triton's majestic tail swished furiously as he paced the small area of the hidden grotto, muttering to himself. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you don't know your _own_ history_ _when you obviously spend all your time—" he made a gesture in disgust to the human artifacts adorning the shelves along her wall— "studying _theirs_."_

"_But Dad I—"_

"_That _instrument _is the Ocarina of Waves, Ariel! The most beloved treasure of Amphitrite. Wife of Poseidon! She lost it in the war waged between the gods and genies. Our kind has searched for it for centuries. It's as old as _this—" _he growled, showing her his trident and gripping its handle so hard it started to glow again— "and you're telling me it's in the hands of a _human_?"_

"_Daddy, _please—_"_

"_Marlin!" Triton bellowed and before Ariel knew what was happening, her father's captain of the guard sailed in through the small portal of her grotto and saluted the sea king. "Take a legion of your best swimmers to the surface."_

_Marlin gaped. "Th-the _surface _milord?"_

"_Daddy no!"_

"_Yes, the surface. It seems the new prince of Lochmere has laid claim to a sacred artifact that most certainly does not belong to him. The Ocarina of Waves."_

_Marlin's eyes widened to the size of blowfish and nodded. "Y-Yes, your Majesty. And, when we find it?"_

_Triton glowered at his captain. "Take it. Back."_

"_Daddy!" Ariel tugged on his arm, "Stop it! Please think about what you are doing!"_

_Triton whirled on his daughter as Marlin retreated from the grotto. "Ariel, how many times must we go through this!?" he implored her. "Contact between the human world and the mer-world is strictly forbidden! You know that. Everyone knows that!"_

"_For how much longer!?" she barked at him now, jerking herself away and glowering so suddenly and so intently that it caught him off guard. "Contact is forbidden under _your _say-so. Not anyone else's," she argued, seized by an inexplicable urge to defend a complete stranger. "And other sea-kingdoms follow _your _lead since _you're_ the descendent of Poseidon! How much longer are you_ _going to punish an entire species of beings for the mistakes of one man!"_

"_Don't you take that tone of voice with me, young lady!" her father brushed her off as he normally did when his daughter was making sense. "As long you live under _my _ocean, you'll obey _my _rules!"_

"_But if you would just listen—" she begged him, but even she could tell that the brief window of opportunity to deal with the king rationally had come and gone._

"_So help me Ariel, I am going to get through to you. And if _this _is the only way? SO BE IT!"_

_Before the little mermaid could take another gulp, white hot rage swept through her father's soul and into his trident, and in one swift, brilliant flash of light, the entire contents of her precious treasure trove were eradicated from the ocean floor…_

…Marina threw the shell away from her so quickly that Ella shrieked for fear of it shattering against the bar railing. Jasmine, however, was quick to pluck it from the air and palmed it carefully as the lounge singer caught her breath.

"What the _hell _was that?" cried the red-head, taking in huge gulps of air which were just as quickly expelled in uneven, spastic puffs.

"We…" Ella looked to Jasmine and gulped, "don't know. What did you see?"

"Something crazy, that's for damn sure!" the girl muttered and jerked away from them…but even that movement reminded her of the way she'd – no, the _mermaid_, Ariel– had jerked away from her father. The memory stilled her, refusing to ebb from her mind.

"It's a memory, Ariel," said Jasmine with a hint of impatience. "We've all had them in some way or another – small flashes of a life we don't recognize until we get our—"

"Whadid you call me?!" Marina cried, her jaw dropping like an anvil.

Jasmine pursed her lips together and stepped toward her with the shell. "Ariel," she said.

Marina gasped. How did she know? How could she possibly have guessed that name? Were _they _somehow doing this to her?

"Jasmine," Ella muttered under her breath, holding the Arabian princess back. "Easy."

But Jasmine shook her head. "We don't have time for _easy _anymore, Ella." It had taken long enough to track down the seashell, locate the Ugly Duckling and convince the young woman to unlock the doors to the club despite the fact that it wasn't supposed to open for hours. The shell had had the exact effect they'd hoped it would on the former mermaid, and it was certainly a good stepping stone toward convincing Ariel to come with them. But Jasmine had the distinct feeling they were running out of time, and though Ella's patience and quiet manner had been instrumental in getting them this far with her, the sultana-to-be was growing restless with the 'little mermaid'. She turned right back to Ariel, slapped her hand on the surface of the bar and once more held out the shell in the other. "Look, we know you saw something. And we know," she gestured toward the mirrors behind the bar, "what you must've seen here last night in those mirrors."

Again, the singer gasped. Ineptly, she glanced around the room, as if the familiar surroundings of The Ugly Duckling held some sort of cosmic answer to these insane questions. "H-how could _that_," she returned to the shell after a moment, taking another step back, "have been a-a _memory_. I was _speaking _under_water_ for god's sakes!"

But this proclamation had the opposite effect than she expected, for at the word 'underwater' both women lit up in brilliant, hopeful smiles, glancing between each other and sharing those knowing grins. For some reason, this didn't make Marina feel any better. She opened her mouth to say as much when a violent crash outside stunned them, and all three women turned to face the doorway.

"There she is, boys," cackled a deep, shrill voice as a buxom woman with grey-white hair marched in through the glass double doors, two huge men flanking behind her. "Oh and look at that," the woman's red eyes blazed through an otherwise human veneer. "She's brought friends!"

"Madame Nerine!" Marina exclaimed as her boss and owner of The Ugly Duckling stood in the doorway with two of the night bouncers. "Jay? And Sam, what're you doing here so—"

But the woman ignored her as she turned to her henchmen, "Flotsam? Jetsam? Let's make sure we can do what pitiful old Tremaine could not, eh?"

The two bulky men lunged toward the bar, and both Ella and Marina shrieked as two pairs of arms came at them in a blur of motion. The bouncers were caught off guard, however, when Jasmine expertly hooked her ankle around Jay's– or, Jetsam's – and tripped him up, staggering him backwards into his partner. Both men fell, though Flotsam's hand had already seized around Marina's arm.

"Ariel!" Ella cried, as Marina tumbled over with Flotsam, landing sprawled between them and clambering to get up. Ella kicked and punched at Flotsam's arm, but couldn't affect his grip, and soon 'Madame Nerine' (whoever she _really _was, though Ella thought it a pretty safe bet this was Ursula) had circled around her and yanked her back by the neck.

"Is it true your little hubby drove a fire poker through your step mother's gut? Gosh I woulda loved to see _that,_" cackled the sea witch as she glanced down and saw Jetsam still tousling with Jasmine, not at all in doubt that her trusted henchman would soon best the overrated Arabian princess.

"Let me go!" Ella seethed through gritted teeth, batting and clawing at the woman's other arm, but she was far too large, and her fat fingers had such a tight grip that Ella feared what might happen if she jerked the wrong way. Ella glanced down at Ariel who was similarly struggling with Flotsam, and soon all three princesses were standing with their backs flush against those who had attacked them, each with arms pinned behind their waists and their stomachs pressed against the Ugly Duckling bar.

"Where is little _Tommy _now, hmm?" taunted Ursula as she crushed Ella's chest against the railing, her haughty gaze laughing at her as their eyes met in the mirror behind the bar. Ella made a show of jerking to and fro against the railing, grunting and pulling against the woman's massive size. To the right of their reflection, Ella could see Ariel's frightened eyes peeking out from above the bouncer's dirtied hand which was tightly clamped over the red-head's mouth. The princess of Seven Gales so wished she could offer some sort of reassurance to the little mermaid, but for now she could say nothing. "Did his Royal Bratness really send the two of youhere _alone_ to fetch a woman who wouldn't know you from Eve?" Ursula continued, and Ella growled in frustration as the rough, scratchy feeling of rope pulled over her wrists.

Ella looked to her left and saw Jasmine twisting and writhing in Jetsam's grasp. In her struggle, however, Jasmine caught Ella's eye and managed a slight nod. Ella smiled and stilled. "Actually?" Jasmine rasped as Jetsam's grip closed around her neck. "No."

And no sooner had Ursula noted the smug look in both princesses' eyes than all six exit doors of her ritzy club were flung or kicked open, and a familiar grating voice sounded behind her. "You've got six pick axes and an arrow all pointed at your gut, sea witch," Snow White's voice boomed through the club as Ursula slowly turned with her hostage and glared at the princess of New Gaia. "And trust me," added Snow. "_Their _aim is better than mine."

Ursula grimaced. She had, during her time in Storybrooke, seen Mary Margaret Blanchard around town, but she much preferred the mousy school teacher to this archer bursting through her doorway, bow taught, arrow made ready on her string. Her eyes darted around, noting what she must assume were six of Snow's legendary dwarf henchmen, poised at every exit. "Veeeeery clever, dearie," said the sea witch, tightening her hold on Ella as Flotsam and Jetsam also turned their hostages front, converting each princess to a human shield. "Though I highly doubt any of you will actually make a _move _at the risk of inadvertently breaking one of these," she paused and ran her other palm up Ella's neck, placing one hand over the princess's forehead and the other at her throat, "beautiful necks."

Snow gulped and glanced down at Grumpy who stood by her side, but he nodded, gripping his axe tighter, and her aim held firm.

"All I have to do is…twist you know. And _pop!_" she punctuated her _p_'s and mimicked the very slight motion it would take to snap Ella's neck.

"You talk a good game, Ursula, but you're forgetting one thing," said Snow, inching forward. The dwarfs followed suit.

"Uh, boss?" Jetsam hissed, looking to his queen for direction as they closed in.

"Shut up," Ursula muttered. "What's that, your _highness_?"

Snow stopped a few more feet into the club and smirked. "Your back door."

Ursula instantly seized her grip on Ella, but she was too late. Dopey, who had made it his mission to master the art of stealth after losing his eighth brother, leapt out from behind the bar and slammed the blunt end of his axe into the back of Ursula's head, knocking her unconscious. In the confusion, Jasmine easily slipped from Jetsam's grasp, twisted his arm over itself and flipped him over, sending him crashing into one of the club's round cabaret tables. Flotsam, seeing himself completely outnumbered, shoved Ariel into the two dwarfs coming at him from the left. Ariel shrieked as she stumbled into Happy and Sneezy, both of whom were happy to break her fall as Flotsam vaulted over the back of the bar and headed for the exit…just as Snow's arrow came spearing toward him and thwacked right into the doorframe, inches away from his head. Flotsam froze and spun around, hands in the air as Grumpy and Happy flanked him and shoved him to the floor.

Snow swept one more look over the room and decided it was secure. She gave the dwarfs a satisfied nod as she shouldered her bow and went instantly with Doc to Ella's side. "You all right, Ella?"

The blonde patted herself down, brushing the grime of Ursula's grip from her neck and arms. "Fine, thank you," she said sweetly.

"Cutting it a little close, Snow?" said Jasmine, who finished tying up a dazed Jetsam with the rope Doc had just handed her.

"Nah," Snow grinned. "We had plenty of time to spare—"

"Excuse me!" said the red-head, shaking herself free of the well-intentioned little men fussing over her. "Will someone _please _explain why my _boss _and _bouncers _just tried to _kill _us?"

Jasmine sighed and shook her head, sympathizing of course with her confusion, but no less impatient than before. "It's actually quite simple, princess," she said, stepping over the unconscious sea witch to reach her 'sleeping' friend. "Your _boss_ is actually Ursula, the Atlantian sea witch."

Marina's jaw dropped to the floor as she stared at Nerine, looking in horror at what seemed to be octopus-like tentacles slithering out from beneath her cloak. Snow gasped too as whatever glamor spell the witch had obviously cast on herself faded with her loss of consciousness. Obviously, the curse was weakening since more of Storybrooke facades were breaking down.

"That's…that's not possible," Marina whispered, though she couldn't deny what she was seeing with her own eyes any longer than she could continue to deny what apparently _wasn't _a dream last night in the mirror.

"I'm afraid it is, Ariel. Which makes _you _the 'Little Mermaid,'" Ella added, coming up behind her, clasping a supportive hand over her wrist. This time Marina didn't shrug away, merely gulped.

"And…" she glanced up at the third woman who had come to her rescue, the raven-haired school teacher she'd known from the many fairs and picnics and town events she'd sung over the years. "A-and you?"

Snow grinned broadly as her comrades gathered around her, holding their pick axes proudly over their shoulders. "Snow White and her Seven Dwarfs," she said, "at your service."

…

*****GODS AND DEMONS that was a bear of a chapter – my longest in a while, I know, but once again, there just wasn't a good halfway point at which to split. Besides, I know it's been a while, so hopefully you'll appreciate a nice long, juicy update. **

**My goal was to update at least one more time before the start of the third season. And I'm done with 9 minutes to spare! Now for some credits:**

'**Storybrooke' names of lost boys, as you might have guessed already, are either slightly altered or taken verbatim from cast lists of various film adaptations of Peter Pan. **

**Marlin, captain of the guard for Triton…well, I hope you can guess who **_**that's **_**based on, given the fact that Ariel's handmaiden was **_**Dory**_** in the last chapter!**

**I also borrowed some more names of Greek gods and goddesses from various mythologies as well as a **_**Jungle Book **_**reference in finally naming Graham's wolf, Akela.**

**Thank you for your…wow, **_**years **_**of dedication to this story, for your continued favorites, reviews, recommendations to new readers and so on and so forth. Shout out to my girl, The Pris, to sgcycle, to KayleeThePete, Haley Renee, Lady Eagle, Insane. Certifiably (see I knew I shouldn't have started this…it's like an Emmy award acceptance speech…I'm gonna leave someone out!), Maiqu, LadyWeasley, emilycambron9, HJS-NS-23, Amanda, Helena Hermione, Duchessduchie, quoththeraven, David Knight and a BUNCH of others out there still sending me great comments and great ideas. I owe you big time!**

**Hope you enjoyed! Happy Season 3!*****


	43. March of the Wooden Soldier

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_Boy is that summary OLD!...but oddly enough, it still fits because Aaaaaaaaaall of this, is what I believe WOULD have happened if James hadn't seen that damn windmill! _

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

*****Ok, I know it's been almost a year and I'm SOOOOOO sorry for the delay – I'll compose a longer AN at the end of this but I figured you might be in need of a quick recap since it's been so long away:**

_Snow, Jasmine, Ella and the dwarfs just saved Ariel from Ursula, Flotsom and Jetsam. Emma sent them to protect the sixth guardian who, at the moment, is most at risk. Emma, Philip, Aladdin and Lucas (who still thinks he's Trent) have headed to the hospital to find Maeve/Maleficent to see if she has any idea how the soulodestone can make a portal through which Emma will pull Eric from prison (as she saw in her vision). Meanwhile, Emma sent Red, Michael Tillman, Jiminy and Geppetto to follow Akela (Graham's wolf) to find Henry, Ava, Nicholas and The Lost Boys. Emma has given Red something very significant which Red stores under her red cloak. (Any guesses what she might be concealing?) This chapter begins with a bit of an amalgam of my original view of Hook fused with what I liked of the show's Hook. I originally was intending this to be a much longer chapter, but I've decided to split it in two. This is the first half of the drama that will lead to Henry and the Lost Boys' confrontation with Hook, breaking Eric out of prison, reuniting several characters together and…yes…I promise I've not forgotten about Adam. _

…

**March of the Wooden Soldier**

Hook. To forever be known in the realm of infamy by an appendage made necessary by the evils of others; to be cast as villain in a story that, if related truthfully, clearly demonstrated otherwise – oh, if only Killian Jones still cared. Yes, he'd once been a noble sailor, a lieutenant pledged to his brother's side and charged with the trust and care of a vast and honorable crew, but that…was centuries ago. At this point, quite honestly, old Jones quite _liked _being Captain J.S. Hook, having dispensed with the name "Killian" altogether and adopted for his second moniker that of a defeated enemy. It was far more fun being "the bad guy" and a practically immortal one at that. Why no other mariner in history could lay claim to having once matched wits with Poseidon himself, done battle with Odysseus, and crossed blades with Jack Sparrow. And then of course, there was his latest triumph – Peter Pan, the boy who, eventually _did_ grow up. Yes, Captain Hook had had a rather illustrious career on the Eleven Seas and had much to show for his adventures – a whole treasure trove of artifacts, in fact, that he was sure more than rivaled that bloated imp's little shop of antiques in town. So why, in the names of _all _Gods and Demons everywhere had he allowed himself to be reduced to the role of headmaster, nay, _babysitter, _of the very brats he once-upon-a-time had not the slightest hesitation to _kill_?

Looking back, he supposed the rewards of Regina's original invitation to take charge of Neverland's part of the curse had sounded promising. After developing quite a profound reputation as one of the deadliest rogues of the seas, with everyone from Commodore Norrington to King Triton after him at one point or another, the offer to disappear into a life of wealth, power, and fame where _none _of his current and archest of enemies would ever recognize him was a no-brainer. If only that wretch of a woman had anticipated the problem with children and fairy dust. If only Regina had the stomach to kill children – Hook would never understand the axiom of a child's "innocence." Children could be just as violent, just as arrogant, just as wretched – nay, even _more so_ in his experience – than adults, and killing them young prevented them from developing into bigger nuisances later. Still, it was Regina's curse, Regina's rules, and Hook wasn't about to risk the power-enchantment she'd granted his namesake appendage. After all, a pirate on his own could cause a lot of damage. A pirate with a magic-infused hook? Well, his prize trophy in the basement was living proof of all he might one day achieve. Besides, curses were made to be broken. Eventually this one would too, but it was Jones's understanding that the enchantment on his hook would remain, and he quite looked forward to once more captaining the Jolly Roger newly equipped with dark magic. In the meantime, he supposed watching the boys slowly lose faith as their beloved Pan aged into manhood was a far more satisfying punishment for those little mongrels than a quick death would have been anyway. It was perhaps for this reason that the past few days so agitated the pirate because the arrival of three more bratty kids, one of whom was Regina's own precocious son, had disturbed that carefully honed sense of gloom and doom he'd so refined around here these past few decades.

Consequently, Hook decided to take extra precautions following Henry's arrival and Regina's subsequent warning. In truth, he didn't much care whether or not the queen maintained her precious status quo, but he would not allow his own, personal role in Storybrooke's demise to fail for fear of the queen reneging on her magical gift. And with Honest John coming and going, hot on Regina's heels as her favorite errand boy, it even more so fell to Hook to keep order at the home than to his nominal co-worker.

So by around lunchtime the day after Regina's surprise nighttime visit, Hook was on high alert, allowing the boys to eat in shifts of no more than five at a time, keeping a close watch on Henry of course, but on each and every other boy there as well. He would leave nothing to chance; he preferred it that way. In battle, no one handled or planned for the element of surprise better than Captain Hook…which is precisely why the old codger was surprised to discover, when making his rounds, what appeared to be a crumpled up, dusty, ancient-looking toy tossed in the corner of a seldom-used, third floor hallway.

As he hobbled up the stairs, certain that all cell doors were secured and every boy was back in his room, Hook could fathom no explanation for how the plaything had gotten there. The only boy up here was Tootles, still recovering from his failed escape attempt last week. And having personally escorted each boy to his room after lunch, Hook _knew _there was no way any of them had gotten by him or wandered up here. It was only when Hook got closer and realized exactly what, or more accurately, _whom _it was laying there, that the pirate really got spooked. As he reached the end of the cob-webbed hallway, his lantern gave light to the shadows and revealed an all-too familiar face: it was Pinocchio, the once real-boy turned puppet again.

How in the world had _Pinocchio _gotten up _here_? How when he'd stopped living, even in puppet form, over ten years ago? Could Hook have really just missed him all this time? Is this where the last of the fairy dust had finally spluttered out of the puppet, leaving him lifeless? (Hook never did report Geppetto's missing red-headed whelp to Regina back in the day; they all knew one day Pinocchio's fairy dust would simply run out.) Hook always figured the wooden kid had slipped through a loose floorboard somewhere and gotten eaten by termites – good riddance. But no, here he was, as lifeless as a puppet should be, but otherwise undamaged.

Carefully, as if afraid it was booby trapped, Hook bent down and lifted the puppet by its arm. The wooden legs clinked and clunked together like the sticks they were, and the painted eyes were lifeless as a doll's. Pinocchio was certainly inert, though Hook spent a good five minutes or so screaming at it just to make sure. When he was convinced the creepy thing was no threat, the captain carried it back down the hallway into his study anyway…just in case. For he was, after all, Captain Hook – the seaman who left nothing to chance…a fact that Henry and all his new friends were counting on.

…

"You think he's ok?" Hansel squirmed on top of the bed as Henry pulled himself back inside his dormitory and quietly clicked the door closed.

"He'll be fine," Henry whispered, hoping he sounded reassuring. After all, Hook _had_ shaken Pinocchio up rather roughly.

"He's a puppet, ya dope. Can't feel pain—" Ace jabbed Hansel's side with his elbow before Nibs, in turn, smacked Ace's arm.

"Shut it," Nibs hissed.

"You sure _you're _ok, Henry?" Rufio asked as Henry returned to their little huddle on Henry's floor. Thanks to some clever scurrying by Mick and his friends, sneaking in, out and between their "locked" cells right under Hook's nose had been rather easy. More and more boys were showing up in his room, two-by-two. Hook would escort a set of five up from lunch, take five more down, and Mick's critter buddies immediately set to work picking locks and checking corridors, allowing safe passage to Henry's room for the boys Hook thought he'd already accounted for. There were close to fifteen Lost Boys already, plus Hansel and Gretel, split between his and Dukey's room next door. Hook had only just escorted the last group back from lunch before finding Pinocchio in the hallway.

Henry had to admit he'd been hesitant about placing the wooden boy in such danger, but he could think of no other way inside Hook's office. The door wasn't only locked, it was bolted and chained. And Mick's friends could only do so much with their tails. In fact, the whole plan banked a lot on chance. Hook, for instance, might have just thrown the puppet in the trash, but it was Rufio who had insisted the fastidious old codger wouldn't have been so careless. "_He'll definitely head straight for the office. And as long as Pinocchio can find what we need in a hurry, he should be ok. Course it won't be much longer than that before ol' Hookie decides Pinoke ain't a threat and uses 'is legs for firewood_," the tactless rebel had pointed out. Henry had studiously ignored the flip-flopping in his stomach as he'd turned from Rufio's blunt recommendation to the puppet in question. To his surprise, Pinocchio hadn't seemed the least bit frightened.

"_I'll do it, Henry_," the once real boy had nodded in confidence. "_Anything to get back to my father._"

After that, Henry was not only confident in his plan, but was absolutely certain it would work. According to Mick, the message had already been delivered to Graham's wolf. Emma would be on her way soon. As long as Pinocchio accomplished his mission, Operation Wooden Soldier was a go.

"How long d'you think it'll take?" asked Gretel, who was busily pacing near the foot of Henry's bed.

"Mick gave Pinoke a pretty good description of what it looks like," Hansel answered before Henry could. "And the office isn't…_that _big," he added uncertainly, looking up at Nibs. "Right?"

Nibs chuckled. "Why ask me? The _principal's_ office back in Storybrooke, I know like the back 'o my hand. But Hook's study? _No one _goes in there."

"But Mick described _that _pretty well too," Henry replied, shifting himself on the floor so that he could lean his back against the door and fold his knees up to his chest. "We just…gotta be patient."

Rufio exchanged a worried look with Gretel, then crouched down beside the savior's son. "You're not uh…gettin' cold feet _now _are ya Hank?"

Henry snapped his head up. "No way!" he said, confidently. "I just…I'm not," he paused and sighed, thinking of his window view of a clock that never budged. "I'm not good at waiting."

…

As it turned out, Henry wouldn't have to wait very long. Pinocchio, though made of wood, still felt slightly sore at the rather violent shaking he'd endured at the hands of Hook, but the pain was worth it as the old man resumed his patrol of the corridors, leaving the not-quite-real-boy on his own in the opulent office. It looked just as the little mouse had described through Henry: like the quarters of a ship's captain. A beautiful mahogany desk, crafted with nearly the same care and precision of Father's legendary hands, stood immediately to the right of the huge double doors he'd been tossed through. Having landed upside down, Pinocchio, pushed himself up to a sitting position on the velvet-covered settee that faced the opposite wall. Sunken into the room, down three steps from the small balcony that surrounded the lower level, was a mammoth-sized brass bed, richly adorned in threads of red and gold, while a miniature model of the Jolly Roger, encased inside a bottle atop a cedar bureau completed the chamber. "Lookie lookie, we got Hookie," Pinocchio muttered as he clunked along the wood floors as quietly as he could, murmuring the phrase Ace made him promise to say once inside the infamous study.

Quickly, he descended the stairs, hopped on the bed and scooted across the quilted covering until he slid down on the other side, plopping softly on the fashionable rug that lay directly in front of the bureau. This was it. Exactly as Mick described it. He held his breath as he reached his shaking, stick-like fingers toward the door to the chest, praying that the mouse's critter friends had completed their mission. If what lay inside was indeed right where it was supposed to be, then every other piece would fall into place. If it was missing, well…they were all doomed. Either way, if Mick and his buddies had failed to pick _this _lock, they'd have to call it off without even trying. Pinocchio closed his hand around the black knob, closed his eyes, and tugged.

The door sprang free without a hitch and hanging on the inside, again, just as Mick had described, were several dozen skeleton keys, clattering and clinking together from the force of having been yanked open. "Shhh!" Pinocchio hissed at the keys without thinking. He shook his head and then scanned the bureau door. The keys were many and of varying shapes and sizes, though some of the hooks on which the key rings were hung were empty – these belonging to some of the smaller keys the critters had already swiped to help the boys out of the their rooms. But there was one key too heavy, one key that would be immediately missed if it had disappeared from Hook's cabinet too early, and Pinocchio knew exactly which one. As Arthur might have handled Excalibur, Pinocchio seized the large silver key hanging in the middle, its key ring sporting a green ribbon and red feather that the wooden boy supposed was some kind of twisted symbol of whom it kept locked.

Shuddering at the thought, Pinocchio lifted it gingerly from its hook, astonished by the weight of it as it plopped heavily into his inhuman hands, then held it to his painted chest. The key to Peter's cell, the only key laced with magic from Hook's hook that could free Peter Pan. It was theirs! They would win! Mission accomplished. Scrambling back over the bed and up the small staircase, Pinocchio skipped toward the door, his timber heart a little lighter, feeling that much closer to freedom, that much closer to Father. In fact, his little wooden shoes clicked together so happily, that Pinocchio didn't hear the footsteps approaching the other side of the office door until he was about to yank it open. Only then did the elation in his heart turn to alarm as the knob twisted before him and the door started to budge. Pinocchio froze, looking helplessly at the velvet settee which was too far away for him to reasonably leap back to without the old man noticing. _Whado I do, Jiminy?_ he thought out of habit, though he knew the cricket was a long way off from being able to guide him here. Finally, he did the only thing he could think of. As Captain Hook reentered his study, Pinocchio tucked the giant key against his breast, folded himself over into a heap and crumpled to the floor.

Hook did not immediately notice the movement of his intruder. He entered slowly, almost wearily after a long afternoon of trekking back and forth corridors and up and down stairs. In fact, Hook might not have noticed the change from the puppet's original position on the settee at all had the boy crumpled himself ever so slightly to the left. As it was, though, Pinocchio had left one arm in the path of Hook's foot, and with a grumble, the Captain stumbled into it as he closed the door behind him.

"What the—" he muttered, glancing down. Then he gasped, jerking back, and peered hard the marionette. He glanced from the settee to the floor, mentally judging perhaps the likelihood that the puppet had just slid from the spot where he'd thrown the damn thing. Pinocchio remained still, praying for some miracle, some 11th hour cavalry that might come bursting through the door at any moment. But he knew no such rescue was possible. The boys were all back in Henry's room. Waiting on _him_. Waiting for _his _signal.

Steeling himself against the gamble he was about the take, the wooden boy reverted to his stoic, plasticized face as Hook bent cautiously before him, picked him up by the hinge of the puppet's wrist and started to raise him off the ground. Pinocchio, now in full panic mode as he felt himself unfold from the floor, was still clutching the heavy key in his other hand, a move for which Ace would've undoubtedly called him "numbskull!" but Hook didn't notice the key right away. The way the captain was holding him, Pinocchio was able to let his other hand hang down behind most of his lanky body, concealing at least part of the key from view as Hook raised him right up to eye-level. Pinocchio now stared straight at the old man's rather pronounced schnozzle, and held his breath. This was a disaster. No way was Hook going to fall for this twice. He was already suspicious enough at having randomly _found _Pinocchio in the first place. He couldn't possibly—

"What've we here?" Hook muttered to himself as he slowly brought his metal appendage up to Pinocchio's cheek, holding the sharp point of it up close as if he were preparing to carve into his wooden face. The thought should have terrified the poor boy but a stroke of genius suddenly surged through him. Who needed a magical key that'd been charmed _by _the magical hook…if you already had the magical hook?

With a confidence he couldn't possibly explain in the years to come, Pinocchio let the silver key drop from his grasp and clatter loudly to the floor. Hook started, looking down in shock at the familiar green cloth and feather. When he returned his gaze back to Pinocchio, the old captain actually screamed, for staring back at him was not the same lifeless expression of the wooden puppet. The toy stared right at him, his head turned a full 180 degrees on its axis from where it was, and said, "Made ya look!"

Hook threw the puppet from his grasp, but not before Pinocchio swung himself forward and gripped onto the metal hook for dear life. Thrown by sheer surprise, Hook started shaking his hand, trying to throw Pinocchio off of him like an unwanted fish at the end of line, but the boy would not let go. His life depended on it. _All _their lives depended on it. And if they couldn't have the key…well, then they needed the hook.

Pinocchio yanked and twisted and pulled with all his might, praying he would hold out before Hook remembered the damn thing was like a wand now. Sure enough, with one final tug, he twisted the hook off the stump of the captain's stubbed arm and fell to the floor with a thud.

"Why you—" Hook bellowed with anger, but the puppet was too small and ducked between Hook's legs as he lunged forward.

Hook, reaching too far under his own legs, lost his balance and went sprawling into the wall next to the settee, giving the puppet just enough time to wrench back open the double doors, spill into the hallway and scream at the top of his wooden lungs: "BANGARANG!"

…

"So…what exactly will this do?" asked Michael Tillman, slightly impatient. After what felt like hours of painfully walking on his bad leg, Michael and his unlikely companions had finally arrived at this rather fictional-looking well standing randomly on the outskirts of Storybrooke's forest. Indeed it looked like something out of a fairy tale, and though he'd spent the last week or so locked in the basement of an abandoned library by a Victorian-dressed bloke who called himself 'Honest John', magic wishing wells still felt vaguely out of his grasp of normalcy.

Red grunted as she and Jiminy gave the rope one final heave and hoisted up its bucket. "This," she panted, taking the bucket off its hook and perching it on the well's ledge, "will return 'what is lost'."

Michael glanced nervously from the dark-haired woman over to Doc Hopper and Marco. "Yeah, that's what Emma said. But what does that mean? _We,_" he gestured to Marco, "have lost our kids. So does this…I dunno, could this make 'em magically appear?"

Red dipped the attached utensil into the freezing bucket and withdrew a ladle-full of enchanted water. "Sorry Kurtis," she smirked. "Doesn't work that way." Without hesitation, she gulped down the water, used the edge of her cloak to wipe its lip then returned it to the bucket for another scoop. "Wehave lost _all_ the children. All the _Lost _Boys. Drinking this," she heaved out another cup-full and passed it to Geppetto, "let's us go beyond the borders of the city without losing our memories in the process."

Marco too drank without reservation, surprised as the liquid trickled down his throat, no longer cold and tasting no different than Granny's sparkling spring water. "A good precaution Red, I'll admit, but Henry and I were able to journey to the Mad Hatter's house without _losing _ourselves as you say," Marco replied as he passed the ladle to Archie.

"Yes but Snow is pretty sure that's because Jefferson was extending the magic he'd carried over from Wonderland. We don't have that luxury this time."

"For _now_, apparently," Michael grumbled as he watched Doc Hopper take his own swig.

Red shot him a look, "Still having doubts, Kurtis?"

Michael flinched a second time at the foreign name, more than a little on edge at how familiar the young woman was being when the only impression Tillman had ever had of the girl was one of near famous promiscuity. Ironically it was this very memory that rendered the whole thing that much more believable. This woman was certainly _not _the wanton Ruby of Granny's Bed and Breakfast, but a level-headed warrior prepared to do whatever it took to save _his_ kids.

"Not doubts," he finally replied as he eyed his own ladle of well water with slight trepidation. "Just…nerves." He glanced down, not for the first time that day, at the bulge beneath the lower folds of Red's cloak. "Are you sure that…thing will work?"

At that moment the four of them spun towards the sounds of rustling trees just beyond the well to where Graham's wolf had just re-emerged. The magnificent beast had scampered ahead, assuring that the path was safe and clear for them to venture forth. Akela glared at them impatiently, the one red eye seeming to bore right into Michael's soul. The trucker sheepishly dropped his gaze and swallowed the well water in one gulp.

Red also nodded to the wolf and tightened her cloak more securely about her neck. "Well?" she said briskly. "There's only one way to find out."

…

"You stole the hook?! The bloody _hook? _You weren't supposed to steal the _hook_, ya heap of firewood, you—"

"Really don't have time to argue right now, Ace!" Henry shouted as Ace passed the hook back from Pinocchio through the ranks to where Henry was, in the middle of a throng of boys. The group sped down the corridor, barely missing another bullet zooming from behind them. Hastily, Henry tucked the stolen item in the breast pocket of a jacket Mick had found for him and prayed it would be enough. Pinocchio's 'bangarang' signal had been part of the plan. Running from an angry pirate whose missing hook had not deterred him from using his good hand to fire a pistol…was not.

"Hank's right," Rufio shouted. "No turning back now. We need to finish this. You ready?" he called out as the group neared the end of their hallway which veered off to the left and right and down the stairs – 3 different directions, only one of which Hook could follow.

"Ready!" said Gretel, Hansel and Henry all at once. The Lost Boys, however, had a different response planned, and as they split into three even groups, some of them crowding around Henry, others clustering near Pinocchio and a third group centered on Ace, Henry distinctly heard each of them crow.

"Now!" Rufio added to the thunderous cacophony of caws reviving an age-old battle cry of Pan's that served mostly to further anger and distract Hook. Rufio then hoisted Pinocchio up onto his shoulders and veered to the right with a half dozen other boys. Pinocchio, now in plain view above the rest and having been Hook's most recent agitator, was the captain's immediate target, and in a blind fury, the old clock-fearing codger took off down the corridor after the damned puppet and still crowing boys while Nibs, Gretel, Dukey, Pockets and Hansel slunk surreptitiously down the stairs with Henry, heading straight for the lowest dungeon with Hook's hook in hand.

"Well _that _was too easy," muttered Nibs, throwing one last glance up the rounded stairwell to the tail end of the resuming chase before hefting open the basement door and starting their descent to the dungeon.

"Let's not celebrate just yet," Gretel muttered behind him, her hands firmly on Henry's shoulders as she once again guided the Son of the Savior down to Peter's cell. The group made its way quickly through the dark, dank corridor, and Henry watched as a series of half-opened rooms came into view then zoomed by on either side, rooms he hadn't noticed when Gretel and Rufio first showed him the place. In one room in particular Henry caught sight of some sort of metal slab, resting at a slight angle, reminding Henry of those old black and white mad-scientist movies he used to catch on TV when Regina was out late. He shuddered to think of what it had been used for, gasping at the thought that Regina might have done other things here than just holding boys prisoner – terrible things. Experiments? Torture? Mind-erasing? And then of course, there was whatever kind of magic it had taken to allow Peter's aging process to progress while keeping the rest of the boys' ages frozen in the first place. Once more shuddering at the thought, Henry pushed it from his mind as they arrived at the shoddy, half-off-its hinge hatch at the end of the long hallway.

Without ceremony, Nibs yanked open door, revealing the shadowy room in which Peter stood shackled to the wall just beyond a set of iron bars. Nibs peered inside, hardly able to stomach the sight of their old ring leader, chained and defeated, head down, dirt-dusted hair covering his face. "Pssssst!" he hissed through the metal poles blocking their way. "Pan!"

Henry gulped, as the broad-shouldered, no-longer-a-boy Peter lifted his head to reveal those same lifeless, hopeless gray eyes he'd seen before. And though he was a might more prepared this time, Henry couldn't help but be saddened at the sight of such an iconic figure, beaten at his own game. Forget about 'happy thoughts', this guy – this _man _– was completely broken, a shell of what he'd always imagined Peter Pan to be. And that certainly wouldn't make their escape any easier. "H-hey P-peter," he croaked, then gulped again. "I-I'm Henry—"

"No time for introductions kid," Nibs hissed, nudging him in the ribcage, though himself still staring dry-mouthed at their beloved Pan. "Get on with it!"

"Right," Henry nodded, pulling the hook from beneath his jacket, closing his fingers around the cold steel of the stolen appendage. Hands shaking, though grasping firmly, he reached the hook out toward the keyhole of the prison bars blocking the doorway. Gretel and the boys held their breaths as Henry inserted the tip of the hook inside the keyhole…and only then did it occur to Henry that he had _no idea_ what to do next.

Nibs glanced frantically between Henry, the hook, the keyhole, Peter, then back to Henry again and huffed. "Well? Whadya waitin' for?"

"Give 'im time, Nibs," Gretel said, though Henry noticed even her voice was shaky.

"We don't _have _time, Wendy Lady," chimed in Pockets who pushed Hansel out of the way for a closer, though not at all helpful, view of the hook.

"I-I'm sorry," Henry stammered, hot embarrassment prickling at his neck. Man he wished Mick were here, or even better…Pops. "Pinocchio was supposed to get the _key _remember? I don't…I'm not sure—"

"Henry," Gretel spun him toward her and grasped his shoulders. "The key was magic, remember? Enchanted by _this _hook. It's got to be able to open the cell if it's the thing that created the spell to begin with."

"Yeah but _Hook's _the one laid the spell," Henry countered, looking frantically between the bars and the captive – Peter who was now eyeing him with a bit more clarity. "Doesn't that mean Hook has to—"

"Oh, chutes-n-ladders, Henry!" cried Dukey, "are you saying we came all the way down here for nuthin'!?"

"No! Not nothing," he countered, "just…just," he grasped for straws, looking panic-stricken between Nibs and Gretel. "He was _supposed _to get the key! I don't know how—"

"Happy thoughts," came a whisper, almost from the ether. Henry spun around, jerking at the quiet yet deafening interruption of their squabble.

"What?" he called aloud.

"Happy thoughts," came the voice again, and this time its origin was clear. Gretel and the boys stared in awe through the bars at Peter Pan who, instead of slumped in his chains, now stood straight and strong against the wall, hands clenched into fists, eyeing Henry with unsettling intensity. Henry also noticed, for the first time, the slightest hint of elf-like ears peeking from beneath his disheveled brown hair.

"Henry, is it?" Pan asked the boy, clearing his throat as if doing so might rid him of its low, adult timbre.

Henry nodded (as did Dukey and Pockets, stupidly). "Y-yes sir," he said, then instantly regretted it.

Peter grimaced at being called 'sir' but let it go. The boy was holding Hook's hook. Nibs was with him. It was enough. "Think. Happy. Thoughts."

Gretel looked slowly back from the legendary Pan to Henry. "He's right, Henry," she said quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder once more. "Happy thoughts. I-it's how magic," she glanced at Peter who was nodding, "it's how magic works."

"It's how _fairy dust _works—" said Henry. "Fairy dust inside all of _you_," he glanced frantically at the Lost Boys. "Fairy dust we gotta _save _for the last part of the—"

"No. All of it," she cut him off, pressing on with more certainty. "Like it or not, _this,_" she gestured through the iron cage to the shackled Peter, "makes Hook happy. All _you_ have to do…is will him free."

"You said so yourself, Henry," Pockets added with a toothy grin, swatting him playfully on the arm. "You _are _magic. You asked us to believe in _your _magic. Now you gotta believe in yourself."

Henry shook his head, looking down at the hook then back up at Peter. "Happy thoughts," Henry whispered. And again, Peter nodded. Henry closed his eyes. _Happy thoughts…happy thoughts…Peter being FREE!_ His eyes snapped open. No change. _Stupid, _he told himself. _Come on, Henry_. The boy had read enough comic books in his life to know that the trigger had to be something deeper than that. _Ok, ok, ok…happy thoughts…just another word for willpower right? Ok happy thoughts, happy thoughts…_Henry squeezed his eyes shut again.

_POPS!– __"Snow called me right away after she spoke with your therapist. You were brilliant, Henry. Couldn't have done it without you"…_

_GRANDMA! – __"You have the gift, Henry…You've always had it. You listen to them…and then eventually, they just start telling you things"…_

_EMMA! – "Henry, I'm sorry"…"For what?"..."For not believing in you"…"It's ok, Emma"…"No, it's not. I—"… "Mom – It's really ok."…Mom... _His mother. Emma, the savior of Storybrooke_..._

All at once Henry felt something pulsing through his fingers and it caused him to grasp even more tightly to the hook. His eyes popped open and he stared at the curved steel, glistening in his hand like he always imagined a glowing wand might look. Gretel and the boys stared too, slinking away from him as the hook started to shake and sputter, but Henry held tight. He could feel it, the power of his happy thoughts, the strength he drew from his family – his _real _family. He glanced back inside the cell and locked eyes with Peter. And Peter…was grinning.

Feeling almost giddy, Henry took a step back toward the cell door and sunk the now glowing hook back into the keyhole. Now positively sure of what would happen, he twisted the hook to the right, and just as the lock gave way –unable to help himself – Henry grinned back and shouted, "Bangarang!"

…

_If only Eric hadn't heard that blasted voice. If only he could rid his mind of that infernally gorgeous song. If only he weren't haunted nightly by the hypnotic melody of his mystery rescuer…then perhaps the newly crowned Prince of Lochmere might be free to follow his heart and pursue the equally bewitching young maiden now living in his castle._

_ What a tumultuous couple of months it had been: uprooted from his far quieter province of Kincanaan and thrust into the role of Lochmere's interim ruler despite having only been a mere marquis under King Hubert's reign; charged with repairing and restoring a land and a people brutally battered by the frigid rule of the Snow Queen; and…oh yes – nearly drowned at sea following a dreadful storm upon the waters of Atlantica. In fact, had he _not _been rescued by what Grimsby now called the 'dream girl' Eric might have considered riding all the way back to Braemar and insisting that Hubert appoint Andrew of Rumbasa in his place and allow him to return to his tenants in Kincanaan. His life there might have been far more mundane but at least he wouldn't be so damned confused. That woman. That shadow of an angel who plucked him from the dark, Atlantian abyss and breathed life back into his soul. Her voice…her song. Just thinking of its haunting tune moved him to tears. He couldn't place the tune. Hell, he couldn't even re-create it on the ocarina his mother had gifted to him when he was a child. But he _knew _it. And for some inexplicable reason, he knew he could not rest; he could never be complete without her. _

_ For ten straight days, he and his new guard had searched the shores of Lochmere, scoured the land of his new kingdom in the hopes of discovering the woman who had saved his life. Only when Grimsby reminded him that a practically infantile regiment of knights should be spending more time rebuilding their kingdom than galloping across the countryside searching for a fictitious singing maiden did the prince put an end to the official search and withdraw to his small, seaside palace. _

_ Embarrassed and ashamed, Eric finally refocused his efforts on his new duties as interim monarch. It was his chief responsibility to monitor the trading and communications routed through Lochmere between Braemar and Agrabah. He was also charged with helping land owners settle their deeds, reestablish their lands and replant their crops in the now thawed and fertile soil- a feat he was far more used to, having similarly counseled many of his former tenants in Kincanaan. In a few more weeks, he'd more than compensated for his initial lapse in judgment, and the people of Lochmere's war-worn shores started to trust and accept him…but through it all, the voice – _her _voice stayed with him. Her song was as vivid to him a month and a half after the fact as it had been on the eve of that fateful storm…and just as he was beginning to wonder whether the emptiness in his soul would ever again be filled with her song…Eric had met Ariel._

_ Actually, Max found her, one afternoon when they were running along the shores. His trusted mutt had a nose for sniffing out trouble, so when he'd yipped and barked himself into a frenzy and tore down the shoreline, Eric had simply assumed the dog had caught the scent of a stray seagull – Max's favorite playtime prey. Arriving at an abandoned wharf, however, windswept and panting from the brisk jog, Eric came instead upon a girl – Ariel. She was beautiful, though exhausted, with long cascading red curls covering what had to be the sorriest looking smock he'd ever seen. Max was all over her – jumping up and down, licking her face. But her eyes – her twinkling, cerulean eyes met and locked with his, and Eric remembered thinking: _this is it_. _This isher! _When she opened her mouth to speak, his breath hitched in his throat. _She'll tell me her name, _he'd thought. _I'll hear her voice…I'll hear _the_ voice! The song! _But the girl could not speak. She _had _no voice. And Eric's spirits came crashing down all over again. It couldn't be her – if she could not speak, she could not sing…and if she could not sing, it couldn't be _her_. He would help the girl of course – it looked like she'd been through quite an ordeal – but she was not the one. No. Not without that voice._

_ Now, only a few weeks later, having invited the poor orphan to his new palace to be cared for and pampered by his staff of well-intentioned chinwags, Eric was even more bewildered than ever. He hadn't learned much about the auburn-haired mute – nothing beyond her name, which the winds themselves seemed to have whispered to him in a dream. But she was utterly fascinated with the world – with the marketplace, with the commoners, the mechanics of a carriage wheel, the charm of a puppet show. At Grimsby's urging, Eric had taken her on a tour today – one he himself desperately needed if he was to truly get to know his new province. They'd packed a picnic and Ariel stared, mesmerized by the three-pronged fork with which his manservant served a selection of Louie's finest meats and cheeses. How refreshing it was to see a young woman so full of life to the point of being fascinated with every blade of grass – how enchanting she was…how beautiful. So beautiful, it almost made him forget…almost. But Ariel was not…_her.

_ "You think it's possible Grim?" Eric asked his most trusted advisor – the only member of his original staff from Kincanaan that he'd insisted on bringing to Lochmere._

_ "What's that, Your Highness?" Grimsby asked as he lit his pipe after dinner that night in the atrium. _

_ Eric rolled his eyes. "I told you not to call me that."_

_ Grimsby shot him a grin. "You may as well get used to it, Highness. Sooner or later you must allow your guard to start addressing you properly."_

_ "Don't change the subject."_

_ Grimsby started to object, then let out a resigned sigh. "Do I think _what _is possible, Eric?"_

_ Eric paused, staring out the large, darkened panes of glass which overlooked the second-story veranda. Over the lower balcony was the most beautiful view of the seaside – a view at this moment being enjoyed by Ariel. She'd taken to spending her evenings on the veranda, as this lower balcony was connected to the guest house…and he'd taken to watching her. "To…be in—" he stopped himself— "to be _interested…_in two women at once?"_

_ Grimsby looked up from his pipe, gaping. The old man was unaccustomed to his master speaking so openly about his feelings – he'd guessed of course that Eric had developed an attachment to the young mute girl – a vast improvement over the young prince's _last _obsession. But the fact that he'd alluded to _two _people implied that he still hadn't let go of this fantasy rescuer of his, and Grimsby worried that the new prince never would. "Well," he began carefully as he rose from the comfortable easy chair he'd settled into by the fire. "I suppose so," he said finally. He watched as Eric's face twisted in anguish, the equivocating response clearly not helpful. Grimsby sighed as he reached the wall of windowpanes, getting a glimpse of the prince's view. "Though Eric, if I may say," he dared to go on, looking out at the lovely girl standing there in the wind, the breeze catching at the bottom of her teal cloak, her red hair shimmering in the moonlight. "Far better than any _dream _girl—" he continued. Eric flinched at the word 'dream'– "is one of flesh and blood. One warm, and caring…and right before your eyes." He trailed off, withdrawing from the window to allow his master's reflection, hoping it might finally be enough to convince the prince to let go of the 'mystery maiden with a voice like a bell' and take a chance on the young woman so clearly and hopelessly in love with him._

_ Eric had come to expect Grim's not-so-subtle attempts to encourage the friendship that had blossomed between him and Ariel – and of course, who could blame the old bean-pole? For weeks the man had watched his ward pine after a woman no one else was sure existed. Eric sighed, turning to reply to his advisor only to find that the old man had removed himself from the room entirely. _Typical, _he thought, as Grimsby's sing-songy hint about Ariel rang in his ear, drawing him back to the window. But when his eyes fell again on the balcony, he jolted –Ariel was gone. _

_Where had she got to? Surely he hadn't missed her retreating to the guest house, for he would have noticed, at the very least, the cottage light spilling out onto the veranda if she'd gone back inside. Seized by a desire not to lose sight of her, Eric pushed open the large glass doors onto the upper balcony and hurried to the covered stairway that connected the two. The crashing of the waves against Lochmere's seaside intensified as he headed down and closer to the shore. Quickly, he reached the spot on the lower balcony where he'd last seen Ariel, then froze. There she was, walking along a long stretch of shale jutting up from the sand and winding all the way toward the docks. How had she gotten down there so fast?! He stood rooted to the veranda, mesmerized by her form as he watched the girl soaking in the soft summer night breeze from the distant waves. And though he knew it to be a fruitless endeavor, though he knew this was _not _the girl with the mystifying voice, Prince Eric also somehow knew that if he didn't follow her now, he'd regret it for the rest of his life._

…

_Before the sun sets on the last day of the third week – that had been Ursula's deal. Three weeks. Two and a half_ _weeks _ago_, that had seemed like plenty of time. And when she'd been discovered by Eric himself only hours after she'd be hurled up to the surface, her new waterless lungs straining for air, she couldn't believe her good fortune. She had figured it would take at least the first week to _find_ the handsome human whose song had stolen her heart, and here he'd come upon her on the very first day, offering shelter, food…friendship. _

_ But friendship wasn't enough. True love's kiss – that was the _rest _of the deal. Only true love's kiss would make the spell permanent and keep her from reverting back into a mermaid. And if she failed…Ariel would belong to the underworld. She would become one of the sea witch's many minions. She would work for Ursula. Ariel couldn't imagine a fate worse than that: to be working for Ursula, to do her bidding, to betray her people. Of course, neither could she imagine any longer a world without Eric – the only man who would ever be able to complete her. _

_Oh if only her father had _listened _to her! If only she'd been permitted to follow her heart the way the rest of her sisters had – to pursue the one who knew her song. But the sea king had made himself clear; destroying her trove of human artifacts was certainly proof enough of his unyielding obstinacy. Triton's denial had forced her hand – she'd had no choice but to seek out the sea witch. And in doing so, she'd paid an unthinkable price. _

_Why even as she was making the deal, she knew it was a bad idea: trading her voice for legs; giving up the very instrument that would so easily bind her love to Eric's in exchange for the chance to be part of his world. At the time, she'd been so desperate and heartsick, she'd convinced herself that even without her singing, he would still recognize her, would sense in his heart what was so plainly written on her face, that she _was _the one he'd been looking for. Now of course, nearly three fateful weeks later, she'd fully realized the artifice of Ursula's deal-making. Neptune's beard! She'd made it sound so easy: _"Men don't like a lot of blabber anyway!" _the sea witch had cackled even as Ariel was signing away her soul. _

_Still, she _was _this 'dream girl' as the old one often jested. She knew Eric had been looking for her. Just because she'd traded her voice for legs didn't mean she'd lost her hearing. And what she heard around and about the town was deafening: the stories, the gossip – all about Eric and his mystery rescuer. Ariel's hand-maiden, Betsy, who was being courted by one of Eric's guards, prattled insufferably about how her young beau had spent weeks galloping across the countryside with the new prince, looking for a woman who 'didn't exist'. If she could only show him somehow, explain to him the deal she'd made. She'd tried gestures, mimicking their strange form of written language, but couldn't quite master the syntax. Why did humans have such trouble seeing what was before their very eyes?! Three days left and she was no further along with— _

"_Ariel?"_

_The girl froze, her eyes still resting upon the rippling waves as the moonbeams danced along the horizon. She sucked in a breath and turned. There he was. Just as handsome as the day she'd set eyes on him, his mouth curling into a soft grin._

"_I see you've found one of my favorite spots," he offered as he gestured toward the sea. She nodded, for it was all she could do. He took a whiff of the sea air and let out a sigh, one that sounded far more calm and content than he actually felt, being this close to her. He pressed his hand on the shale precipice, hoping he was striking some sort of casual pose regardless of his anxiety. "It's awfully peaceful here," he added._

_At this, Ariel couldn't help but snort. _Peaceful_. Precisely what did humans find to be so 'peaceful' about the sea? Underneath, the waves were teaming with life._

"_What?" Eric started at her reaction._

_Ariel shrunk back, feeling sheepish. Had she snorted that loudly? Did he think she was laughing at him? She was mortified, but helpless to explain. She opened her mouth, furious that no sound would come out, then gestured helplessly at the sea, rapidly mimicking a swim stroke as if to suggest all the fury and excitement of the waters._

"_Oh," Eric bit his lip, trying to catch her meaning. "Yes, I suppose it's not exactly calm right now," he said at last with a chuckle._

_Ariel blew out a sigh in relief, her heart tumbling in summersaults. He understood her! He was doing that a lot lately – sensing what she must mean despite her horrendously sloppy and awkward game of gestures. She nodded fiercely, a wide grin splitting across her face._

"_Still," he continued, shoving his hands in his pockets and forcing himself to look back at the ocean, "can't really argue with that salty sea air. One of the most…erm, calming…smells." Eric turned away and cringed. _Calming smells? _What was he talking about?! How could a girl with _no_ voice leave him tripping all over _his_ words? He turned back to her and froze. Her eyes. Those cerulean eyes of hers boring so deeply into his own. "Did you, um," he gulped eventually, "did you enjoy the…the tour today?"_

_Ariel couldn't stand it. Surely he must know_ _the answer to _that_ question! And why must he waste time making conversation when he knew it was something she couldn't return?! Why must he waste _time _in general? Time was precisely what she didn't have!_

_Struck with a surge of urgency, Ariel lunged forward, so suddenly that Eric stumbled back into the shale wall, the loose lapels of his tunic falling open as he spluttered, "Whoa, hey, um…what're you—"_

_Ariel had observed enough of human customs to know that this precarious position wasn't exactly, well, couth: a young maid backing her prince up to a wall, practically shoving him against the long, winding beach crag. But she was nearly out of options, and he was too stunned to resist her as she gripped the folds of his lapels and leaned forward._

"_A-a-ariel?" Eric stammered, wondering what the hell was going on while at the same time longing for what she'd so boldly initiated. She was so close now, inches away and he could almost taste the soft brush of her lips when suddenly, she stopped._

_Ariel gasped as she drew back and looked down. As she'd reached to pull him close, her hand had grazed over a thin gold chain looped around his neck. Endless curiosity forever her most frustrating flaw, she followed the chain down to the precious item hanging from it. _

"_Wh-what?" Eric gulped, following her gaze then lifting the trinket from beneath his tunic. "This?" he held it up and watched in awe as her eyes followed it with intense fascination, almost reverence. "It's um…it's a kind of…flute," he explained, clearing the massive frog in his throat._

Flute,_ Ariel thought. Her father's manic voice filled her head: _"It seems the new prince of Lochmere has laid claim to a sacred artifact that most certainly does not belong to him. The Ocarina of Waves." _In the weeks she'd spent with the prince of Lochmere, she'd only ever seen him with the instrument once, and at the time she was too far away to hear it. She had no idea he kept it with him always. Would he have any clue? Would he ever have any idea what powerful transformation Amphitrite's relic had wrought on her soul?_

"_You…you like it?" Eric asked lamely. Of _course _she liked it. She seemed utterly enthralled. "It was a…a gift. From my mother. She called it an ocarina," he explained, handling the instrument gently. She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes entranced, pleading with him. "Would you," he rasped, her face still only inches from his, "would you like to…hear it?"_

_Ariel's breath hitched as she nodded, though she was almost afraid to hear it again, to hear what had driven her all this way to find him, to trade away her entire world. Suddenly an icy fear gripped her heart: what if it wasn't the same? What if the song…wasn't hers? What if she'd imagined the whole—_

_Eric started to play, hesitantly at first, his eyes still on her as his fingers played across the holes of the flute. As the melody grew her eyes fell closed and she started to sway with the music. Eric's heart swelled. He'd never played for anyone before; he could hardly believe he was playing for her now except…there was no way he could refuse her. His confidence grew as she started to move with the melody, her feet dancing softly along the sand as he continued to play the song he'd known since he was a child – a silly tune, really – something he'd made up as a kid and yet…its effect on her…_

_The song filled her soul just the way she'd remembered, so hauntingly familiar. She so longed to sing it with him, to reveal to him its melody that she'd sung on the beach – the day she rescued him; Goddess that seemed ages ago now. She opened her mouth, futilely, but of course no sound came out. So she continued to sway, to move lightly on her feet, stepping rhythmically to the harmony she knew so well. _

_Eric continued to play as he watched her – her lithe, breathless movement becoming a frenzied dance as the very waves seemed to join in his silly symphony. It was damnedest thing really – for though he'd never played for a true audience, and certainly not _this _song, she seemed…she seemed to _know _it. She stepped in perfect rhythm; she anticipated notes before he played them; she danced and reeled and twirled and waltzed along the shoreline, carrying them both closer and closer to the waves. With every step she made, his soul spun further into a tempestuous fury until finally, Eric couldn't take it anymore. He ceased playing, dropped the ocarina back around his neck and seized her hand, pulling her against his chest before he regained his sense. "Ariel," he rasped again, but this time he was less unsure, less nervous. He knew she wouldn't reply, she couldn't. And after all, wasn't this what she'd wanted in the first place? She stared longingly into his eyes. He cupped her cheek and she let him. He whispered her name once more before slowly dipping his head down to hers, and then—_

_CRACK! A flash of red and yellow light sparked just off shore followed by the high-pitched screaming of a fisherman launched overboard. Both Ariel and Eric jerked out of their trance and watched in horror as the sea started swallowing up a small fishing boat. Without a word, Eric bolted out to the dock while Ariel trailed close behind, her legs suddenly wobbly again and unsure on the shore as it turned from sand to rocks. Unable to help cursing the unfortunate timing of the incident, she watched as her prince tore off his outer tunic and boots, preparing to plunge into the sea to help the stranded seaman. Ariel might have joined in and helped if she could ever figure out how in the world to get her new legs to do what her fin did so naturally. Instead, she moved to a portion of the dock where lay a few flotation devices. She was about to grab one when she spotted something a good ways beyond the overturned boat: two pairs of sickening yellow eyes smiling at her from beneath the waves before turning to each other with congratulatory nods. _Of course_, she thought, her insides filling with dread. Flotsam and Jetsam – Ursula's right hand mermen – this, the man in his boat…had been no accident. And now Ariel was surer than ever. No matter how close she got, she would fail. She would lose Eric and be forever lost to the sea…_

'Marina Andersen' withdrew her hands from the odd storybook and stepped away from its entrancing pages. Snow, who had been standing close by as the woman quietly poured over this particular chapter, held her breath in anticipation of her reaction to the book they now were sure had been written by one of their world's most powerful sorceresses. Ariel looked – well – flabbergasted, the generally expected reaction to the book's contents by those still asleep in the curse. But Snow was at least hopeful with the curse continuing to weaken that the little mermaid might more readily believe. She'd certainly recalled _something _back at the bar when she'd touched the seashell, and though 'Marina' staunchly refused now to even touch the thing, Snow just couldn't believe a smart young woman would ignore such blatant evidence.

She was wrong. Marina was still inching further and further away from them all. "That's…that's just…insane," she remarked, unable to purge the words and illustrations from her mind. "Nuts, I mean…I mean…_mermaids!_"

"Ariel, just try to think—" Jasmine pleaded, trying to mask her annoyance.

"No!" she fought. "Th-there's nothing to think about. And don't call me that—

"But that's your name—"

"No it's not, and _this_," she stalked back to the book and flipped it forward one page to reveal a haunting depiction of Prince Eric playing his flute for the bewitching Ariel. "Even if I believed it, _this_ man," Marina pointed at the oil canvas of the man in question, "is Charlie Fisher. A dock worker who occasionally does some odd jobs for Ugly Duckling." She flipped back a few pages and steadfastly ignored the ache in her stomach as her eyes fell on an earlier illustration depicting the mermaid Ariel, stretched beside her beloved on the seashore, singing to an enthralled, albeit nearly drowned, Prince Eric. "He's no prince, and he's certainly no musician. In fact, he's in and out of the children's ward at the hospital all the time teaching the nurses sign language…because he's _deaf!_"

"We know," said Jasmine, shaking her head at Snow. "Believe me, we know it's not…ideal—"

"Ideal?" Marina almost laughed. "You're telling me I'm the _Little Mermaid _and—"

"You don't actually like being called that," Snow interjected. Jasmine glared at her. "What? She doesn't!" Snow mumbled.

"Whatever," Marina shook her head but pressed on, jamming her finger against the page, "_this _clearly shows that um, _hearing _is kinda necessary for your…whatever you said you needed, your happy ending. And Charlie? He can't even—"

"_Your _happy ending, Marina," came Ella's quiet, soothing voice. She'd been, until this point, allowing Snow and Jasmine to take point on the unfathomable task of convincing the young lounge singer she'd not only once been a princess, but a _mermaid._ They were failing of course, miserably. Since arriving back at the cottage after locking an unconscious Ursula and her henchmen in the Ugly Duckling cellar, Marina had gotten over (or at least buried) the initial shock of having almost been kidnapped by her former employer and had devolved into a protective world of denial. The golden seashell Snow had retrieved also seemed to have lost its effect, having prompted only the one vision back at the bar which Ariel had by now convinced herself she'd hallucinated. After all, Regina _had_ hypnotically suggested through her multi-projection mirror-cam that those for whom the queen's ultimatum was not intended convince themselves it was all a dream. The mermaid seemed to have done just that with both the mirror message and the vision, and she would not even think of touching the shell again.

Ella rose from where she was seated on the edge of Thomas's bed, her own prince still sound asleep and recovering from the events of the day. On her shoulder, she cradled Alexandra and caught the proud eye of her father-in-law watching her from the corner as she spoke. "Tell me Marina," she said softly, stepping over to the little mermaid. "Do you know…Charlie Fisher well?"

"Ella—" Jasmine huffed, impatiently. She was tired of walking on eggshells, using fabricated Storybrooke names for women who were far stronger than this damned curse was allowing them to be. After all, she _knew _Ariel from the old world. She'd met both her and Eric a few weeks before her official coronation, saw the woman assist her husband in brokering trade agreements between Braemar and Agrabah like a professional diplomat. And now she was…what? Some spineless lounge singer? Jasmine wanted to _punch _something!

But Snow shook her head and silenced the would-be-sultana before Jasmine had time to voice her frustration. Ella handed off her sleeping girl, and Snow gladly scooped the child into her arms as she watched Ella work her own bit of magic. "Please," she continued. "I'm just curious."

"N-no," Marina stammered. "Not well. Not—" she bit her lip. "Not at all, really—"

"But you know his full name. You know he's deaf," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Everyone knows he's deaf—" Marina scoffed.

"Does everyone know he works with kids in the children ward?" Ella replied, unfaltering. "Does everyone know he teaches sign language to nurses?"

Marina gulped. "I…I don't know," she muttered, taken aback by the girl's muted approach.

"But _you_ do," Ella said, placing her hand on Ariel's shoulder, smiling as she didn't pull away. "You probably know all about him, Marina, or at least more than you would normally bother to learn about the man who empties the trash at your club."

Marina looked away, folding her arms and trying to roll her eyes yet only managing to glance back to the storybook.

"Because somehow," Ella went on, "and you'll never be able to explain it, you feel like Charlie…is supposed to be part of your life."

At that, Ariel _did _jerk away, but she didn't go far. "That's ridiculous."

"Probably," Ella sighed, "but no less true."

"Why would I feel that way? He…he's—"

"If there's one thing about life here in Storybrooke you must do, Marina," the blonde princess pressed on as she rounded the bed, "it's trust your instincts. Trust in what _feels _right." Glancing down at her sleeping prince, Ella smiled, remembering all over again how brilliant he'd been when this whole thing started. After all, it was Thomas she was now channeling: he'd convinced 'Ashley' of 'Sean's' love long before he'd even attempted to explain the curse or Seven Gales. "What we're telling you is almost impossible to swallow, we know that," she said, glancing over at Snow. "So don't even try. Forget what this book says about Eric," she gestured to its pages that, despite her resistance, Ariel kept eyeing, "Trust instead in what you already know to be true about _Charlie_."

"And that's what exactly?" Marina huffed, though the more she listened, the less she could ignore of what she sensed was true. Ashley looked about to respond when her young man began to stir. Instantly she was at his side, perching on the edge of his bed and grasping for his hand. The older gentleman moved too, practically leaping from his chair as he too joined his son's side.

"That's he's important," Snow took over, throwing an appreciative glance at the young princess who never ceased to amaze her. "That he means something to you. And that he's in trouble, Marina…and needs your help."

Marina couldn't help but keep watching as Sean Herman – or the one they were all calling Thomas – groggily coughed his way back to consciousness. Something truly horrific must have happened to have rendered this young man semi-conscious on a used mattress several hundred feet below the surface of a town teaming with hysteria. Marina watched as Ashley gently swept some of his wavy brown hair from his forehead; 'twas an act so sweet and simple, but the gesture left an ache in her heart that sparked a sudden image in her mind's eye – a vision of _herself_. She glanced again at the open pages of the book and looked more closely at the picture of 'Ariel' singing alongside a recovering 'Eric.' And last, in the illustration, she saw herself…sweeping a lock of hair from Charlie Fisher's forehead.

Marina took a deep breath and raised her gaze to an expectant Snow and Jasmine. "Ok," she sighed at last. "So how do we help him?"

…

*****First of all, thank you so much for your patience and your willingness to stick with this story even though it appeared for a long while that I had abandoned it. I will NEVER abandon this story. At the risk of sounding like J.K. Rowling, I have the ending already written and it's a conclusion that I've had in mind since James's very first confrontation with Rumpelstiltskin. That being said, some health problems along with typical busyness at school prevents me from writing as often as I'd like. In addition, I spent a good deal of the summer writing the script of a play I'm planning to produce soon so my creative energies have been a little spent of late. Hopefully these next few chapters will make up for it. Again, I know it's short but given how long it was going to be, this might be better. The very next chapter will start with Emma and her party arriving at the hospital with a much-awaited meeting to be had with Maleficent. **

**This chapter marks the last of the major Fairytale flashbacks. I felt I couldn't jip Ariel and Eric out of some development since they are the least developed of the guardians in Storybrooke and I fear I won't really have much time or attention to pay them once Emma figures out how to wake them since, then, all guardians will be awake and Regina will be…well…miffed. Besides, I have a certain soft spot for Eric since, until Tangled, he was always my favorite of the Disney heroes.**

**Again, thank you for not giving up! Hope you enjoyed the update and stay tuned!*****


	44. The thing about portals

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not dare claim any ownership for the fabulous characters, situations, plots and/or spins on old stories that ABC's geniuses have given us on Once Upon a Time.

**This is a what-if story: **The way I figure, something DID jog his memory that night in the pawn shop…but it wasn't the windmill…_Boy is that summary OLD!...but oddly enough, it still fits because Aaaaaaaaaall of this, is what I believe WOULD have happened if James hadn't seen that damn windmill! _

**In the shadow of the toll bridge**

**The thing about portals…**

The hospital was still in a state of complete disarray as Philip, Emma, Aladdin and 'Trent' crept their way from the parking lot through the back service entrance. The commotion caused by Circe's rampage had left almost every wing of the first floor with no power, light fixtures hanging down from broken hinges, exposed wiring and smoke still billowing from fried curtains. Emma frowned at the sorry condition of Storybrooke General and worried briefly about how the patients were faring considering the staff was down two attending physicians, two paramedics, and a nurse, but she pushed it all from her mind. They were here for one purpose only: "Where do you think she is?" she muttered to Philip who was peering down a corridor, checking for signs of Regina's eyes and ears lurking about.

"Well, that's what's left of her station," Philip pointed at old 'Maeve's' central hub which had only hours ago been a cheery, circular reception area for nurses and now looked like a war zone.

"When she sent me to come find you, she shoved me in there," said Trent, thankful to have something to contribute for once as he pointed toward the locker room. Philip started towards it, careful to the point of paranoid in remaining undetected.

"Hang on," Emma whispered, pulling him back. Two security guards none of them recognized stalked around the corridor past the locker room and disappeared further down the hallway.

"Guys," Aladdin said, impatiently pushing past both of them and more out in the open. "This _is _a hospital and hospitals have security. We can't just suddenly suspect _everyone _is working for Regina." He grabbed hold of Philip's collar and yanked him forward.

"Al, wait—"

"Well well well if it isn't Matt Clancy, back from the dead."

Philip whirled around to see none other than his Storybrooke boss stalking toward them. "Chief!" he started as a very tall, rather imposing man dressed in a dark blue paramedic jumpsuit drew closer.

"Chief?" said Trent, stepping in front of Emma.

"And his MIA partner," the chief continued as the group settled at the hallway T-junction.

"Not MIA, chief just—"

"—just hungover, right?" the man folded his arms across his chest, pointedly ignoring both Emma and Aladdin as he stared down his nose at his two paramedics.

"I know you're mad, Chief but—"

"Mad?" the chief's arms slid from his chest as his hands came to rest on his hips. Staring them down this way, Emma was reminded of a young James Earl Jones and actually had to stifle a snort, particularly as _King _Philip had the look of a high school track star being scolded by his coach. "_Mad_ that my best paramedic and his rookie boy genius here decided to play hooky on this town's bloodiest day?"

"We're not playing hooky, Chief," said Trent. "We're—"

"The hell you're not," said the chief who abruptly seized Philip by the collar and dragged him down the opposite corridor, _away _from the locker room.

"Hey, just hold on a second!" Emma cried as the entire group moved further away from the activity of the front desk. They _so _didn't have time for this!

"Chief what're you—"

"Oh shut up, newbie," spat the chief as he kicked open the door to an empty exam room, flung Philip inside, the rest of the group scurrying in after him, then slammed the door shut and flipped off the lights. Four florescent, wall-mounted x-ray illuminators remained lit, filling the room with a dull, buzzing glow.

Too stunned by the chief's behavior to do otherwise, Philip, Aladdin and Trent stared at the imposing figure while Emma brushed herself off and straightened her jacket around her neck. "Look buddy, I know you think you've got problems here but—"

"Silence, _princess_," hissed the chief in a decidedly different tone of voice. Emma and the others watched in horror as the chief passed his palm across his face and his whole appearance shifted into that of—

"Maeve!?" Trent gasped.

"What are you _doing _here?" demanded the disgruntled head nurse even as her face was still morphing from the chief's to the old bat's.

"You mean you've been Philip's boss _and _SG's head nurse this whole time?" asked Aladdin who seemed nothing but impressed by the legendary sorceress's subterfuge. After all, how else would she have kept such a close eye on all three of them? 'Maeve', however, appeared unaffected by the tacit compliment.

"Long time no see, Effie," Philip chuckled, relaxing under the scrutiny of the much…well, shorter Maeve.

"Philip," the lady grunted, then wheeled on Trent, "and—_you!_ You're not awake yet!"

Trent backed away. "Hey! What the—"

"Which means _she's _still in danger, damn you! I sent you to find—"

"Maeve, what are you—"

"Effie, calm down," Philip snatched her hand away which had been poised to strike his poor cousin on the noggin. "He _did _find us. That's why we're here. We need your help."

"I would say I've given you all enough help in the last _thirty _years! Wouldn't you?" replied the nurse.

Emma cleared her throat, impatient for them all to get back on task. "Um, Effie—"

"And don't for a _second_ presume to be on familiar terms with me Emma Swan. You've fouled up enough around here to—"

"Hey, hold on a minute—"

"Effie—"

"Stumbling all over town," the woman continued spatting, ignoring them, "letting a half-awakened sheriff ramble on like a madman—"

"That wasn't her—"

"Leaving Michael Tillman alone at his house – defenseless! Adam, wild and loose upstairs, dwarves _everywhere_—"

"All right, that's it!" Emma slammed her fist down on the metal exam table and didn't care that it stung like hell. "You know what, Lady? Between Regina and Rumpelstiltskin, I've had more than my fill of high-and-mighty, holier-than-thou magic types throwing that kinda crap in my face, reminding me of just how much I've managed to screw up. I'm doin' the best I can all right? Right now my son is missing and my father's being held captive, but instead of just busting them out and getting the hell out of this town, I'm _here_ because apparently I'm the only one who can get allof _you_ back to your hap-hap-_happy_-ever-after lives." Shaking with fury, she plunged her hand into her coat pocket then chuckled mirthlessly. "And oh yeah, _by _the way, that's only if I can wake up some woman by convincing her she's a freakin' _mermaid_! So if you don't mind," she produced the soulodestone and thrust it in front of Effie's face, "let's skip all the 'there's so much you don't understand' bullshit and go right to the part where youtell mehow to turn _this_ into a portal!"

The room went still as the two women stared each other down with eyes blazing and the fierce drive to protect their loved ones piercing each other's gaze. After a time, she drew a deep breath and slowly proffered her hand. "You are definitely…your mother's daughter," she said quietly as Emma handed the egg-shaped contraption to its creator.

They watched in silence as she turned it over a few times in her palm. At last, Philip tore his admiring gaze from Emma and turned to his old ally. "Whadya think, Effie?"

She sighed. "It's a soulodestone, Philip."

"Your design, correct?" Aladdin asked.

"Of course it's mine," she sneered, "but I don't know what could've possessed you to think it could be used as a portal." Emma let out a tempered groan. "These are for communication, Miss Swan," said the sorceress, answering the girl's unspoken argument. "Aurora and I used them in the months leading up to the curse—"

"But we knowit can be done."

"You must be mistaken."

"I'm not! I've _seen _it!" she slammed her fist down again, snatching the stone back from the woman.

"What do you mean, you've seen it?"

"Emma's a seer, Effie," Philip placed a calming hand on Emma's shoulder, begging that she have faith. "She had a vision."

"What!? You're a…you're a seer?" Emma nodded, unnerved by the awe in the sorceresses eyes; she suddenly preferred the condescending old bat look. "And what did you see in this…vision?"

"We were at the second wishing well with Ariel," she began with hesitation, suddenly unsure that she should be divulging such information to one who, according to Philip, had joined Regina's council. Even with Philip's guarantee that she remained a faithful spy and had no motives other than the protection of her niece, there _was_ such a thing as a double agent. Emma turned to the young king who only urged her on with his gaze. Relenting, she took a deep breath and looked back at Maleficent. "She had some sort of – I dunno, necklace. Looked kind of like a seashell. Something that was important to her."

"To Ariel?"

Emma nodded. "Then she started singing…after I gave her _this_," she squeezed the soulodestone, wondering if her father was listening somewhere. "And when I touched her shoulder…I dunno, this…swirling doorway opened up in front of her and Prince Eric came tumbling through."

Maleficent's yellow gaze seemed to stare right through her, scrutinizing her story as if she could bore through Emma's brain and see the vision for herself. "You're _sure_ that's what you saw? Absolutely certain?"

Emma nodded, but the older woman just frowned, shaking her head and turning from them.

"What is it, Effie?" asked Philip.

"It's just…not possible."

Emma threw her hands up in anger. "Oh for the love of—"

"I _believe_ you, Miss Swan," she clarified, "But I don't understand it. Teleportation within worlds is certainly possible, but not in a world _without _magic. And regardless, I designed the stones to be able to connect the minds of those whose souls are joined by love. Not to create portals. That's a different _kind _of magic, entirely." Suddenly, she grabbed the stone back from Emma and rounded on Trent. "_You _heard 'Dawn' when you held this, yes?" Trent started, then nodded. Maleficent turned to Emma, holding up the stone. "This is likely howyou helped Ariel establish a path _to_ Eric. But that wouldn't have anything to do with opening a portal."

Emma gaped at the woman who now appeared to be nothing more than a crippling waste of time – time her father and son _didn't _have. "Unbelievable! You gotta gimme more than that! You're telling me _this,_" she snatched the stone back, "this _magic_ stone that creates links between people across town can't just be altered somehow to—"

"Magical instruments aren't interchangeable, Miss Swan. A fairy godmother's wand is just as _magical_ as the Jolly Roger, but J.S. Hook can't conjure a ballgown!"

"I'm not talking about a fucking ballgown—"

"Emma hang on," said Aladdin, pulling the young deputy back before an all-out cat fight erupted in the exam room. "What about me, Maleficent? Does it have something to do with me?"  
>Maleficent blinked. "You?"<p>

Aladdin turned back to Emma. "You said I was in your vision, right?"

"Yes—"

"And James thought _I _would know something anyway. What was _I_ doing?"

Emma looked away, closing her eyes, trying to reimagine the vision. "Your…your hand was on my shoulder."

Aladdin grinned. "Maleficent," he spun back to the sorceress. "Could Emma and I conceivably create a portal if bothof us were…gatekeepers?"

"Gatekeepers!"

"Yeah, gatekeepers. You know, diamonds in the rough? Chosen ones? Those who—"

"Yes yes, I know what a gatekeeper is, boy," she huffed, "and if I'm not mistaken, you're the one who can access the genie realm."

"Right! And if Emma's one too, then—"

"That's impossible. Two gatekeepers in one generation?"

"Two generations, technically," Philip added, catching on.

But Maleficent still shook her head. "Even so, you would either have to die or have your powers stripped entirely for them to come to her. There can't be two gatekeepers active at the same time. Helios would never allow such power to—"

"Unless of course one of them was cursed into a magic-less world, frozen in time for 28 years," Aladdin returned, crossing his arms over his chest. "The curse _did _strip me of my powers which means Emma would've been automatically activated regardless of where that wardrobe sent her. She's the only one unaffected by the curse. The only one who retained her magic."

His brain hurting, Trent leaned in toward Clancy. "Are you getting any of this?"

"Shh!" muttered Philip.

"Think about it, Emma," Aladdin turned to the frowning deputy. "It explains everything. My powers must be returning with the curse weakening. I told you in the car it's why I think I woke so easily." He shifted toward Philip. "It's also _gotta _be the reason 'Stiltskin gave me the lamp. He knows it's only a matter of time before the curse is weakened to the point of my being able to access the genie realm again. And with _two _gatekeepers active at once," he finally turned back to Maleficent, "we must have enough power to open a portal _here_, in a world without magic."

Maleficent looked between them, eyeing Emma with more scrutiny than ever before. "And you're _sure _Emma is…like you?" she asked Aladdin.

He looked over at Emma. "It's like I said before. Remember what 'Stiltskin told you," he reminded her again of their recent conversation. Only now, he wasn't just theorizing. He was certain. "This all ends at the third wishing well. The one that…opens a door."

The sorceress stared for another moment, finding it hard to argue with the young man. It had been a long time since she hadn't had all the answers. "Still," she said carefully, "gatekeepers are meant to open doors _between _worlds. Not create them _within _one. That will still take a tremendous amount of power."

"But _can _it be done?" asked Emma, pleading now.

She looked between both of them, their eyes practically bleeding with hope, and sighed. "No," she said quietly, ignoring the smattering of groans, eye-rolling and under-the-breath cursing that followed. "Not now. Not with the curse in its current state," she hurried to explain. "I'm sorry, Miss Swan, but without the awakening of the sixth guardian, there's simply not enough magic released in this world strong enough to create a portal from nothing."

"What do you mean 'released'?" Philip tried, attempting to rein in Emma's exasperation.

Maleficent huffed. "The curse _is _weakened Philip. It weakened the instant young Henry arrived in town."

"What?" Emma exclaimed, ears burning at the mention of her son.

"Indeed. Eleven years ago, as soon Regina adopted Henry. As soon as she allowed your son, this boy who had _not _been cursed through the initial barrier, her spell began to weaken. The tiniest of threads pulling at its seems: Jefferson once again able to cross through the forest from his mansion. Graham flashing back on his memories, no doubt an initial side effect of the lascivious relationship Regina foolishly insisted on continuing with him." Emma flinched at the callous reference to Graham but refrained from commenting. "And the book—"

Philip started. "The book?" she looked down as the rest gasped at her silent admission. "So you _did _write it."

Maleficent nodded slowly. "After Henry arrived, I realized he must be the key to bringing the savior," she glanced back up at Emma, "to Storybrooke. Initially, to preserve my magic, I could do no more than glamour into this—" she gestured down in disgust "—pathetic form and cloak myself from Regina's council. If I used any more of my power, I couldn't maintain the disguise. But when Henry arrived, I found I could start doing more. I could _change_ my appearance – take on multiple forms to keep her guessing. _Your _boss," she nodded toward Trent. "A secretary at Snow's school—"

"Wait, hold on," Emma cried. "Bethany!? You're _also _Bethany?" remembering her mother's description of the old biddy who not only playfully terrorized the elementary teachers but had berated James for not putting enough decorations on the Emporium Christmas tree.

Maleficent grinned as she continued. "I had also regained the art—" she paused, then with a flurry and a wave of her hand, a second soulodestone materialized before their very eyes— "of conjuring."

"Holy shit," muttered Trent, though for once without a hint of doubt or cynicism. Maleficent seemed to stare at him with a sort of sad amusement and handed the stone to the former Duke of Glowerhaven. They all watched as Trent worked the stone over and over in his palms, this one speckled with silver and purple flecks of magic etched into its smooth, egg-shaped form.

Maleficent sighed and turned back to her awakened comrades. "So…I conjured the book. In pieces of course, for that kind of record takes time."

"Henry's book," Emma whispered, unsure why her eyes were stinging with tears.

"The book itself is a sort of magical echo of our histories. I enchanted its pages, designed it to allow the mind of a willing reader to be open to more …fantastical possibilities. Once I heard that Regina had started seeking psychological help for the boy, I knew he was ready for it. It was easy enough to place it in your mother's locker here at the hospital and, through the haziness induced by curse, _suggest _to her that she had simply lost it and it had been returned—"

"The Storybrooke haze," muttered the princess, remembering what her father had told her of the night he'd tricked Abigail into believing a false memory.

"Exactly. And when you rode into town, Emma, those tiny threads that Henry's curiosity had plucked became giant rips in the curse's very fabric. More good magic was released the longer you stayed. The clock started, time unfroze, Prince Thomas woke up, James's amnesia—"

"Right," Emma argued, snapping back to the offensive. "And the curse weakening means more magic right?"

"Yes," said the sorceress impatiently. "Magic enough to help your parents cross the forest to Jefferson's lair. Magic enough for a fabricated glass slipper to trigger the memories of King Christopher and young Ella. But Emma, portals between worlds – even _within _worlds require The. Most. Powerful magic imaginable. Why else would it take the release of all six guardians to open that door? And that's a doorway that already _exists. _You—" she glanced over at Aladdin, "are talking of _creating _one from scratch."

Emma shook her head, vehement. "This can't be it. That can't be all you can give us!" she blustered in a state of denial. "You're telling me that in order to have enough power to wake the sixth guardian, the sixth guardian already needs to be awake?" Maleficent's silence was deafening. "That's unacceptable."

"Emma—" Philip tried to console her.

"No," she seethed, yanking her arm from his grasp. "I risked everything for this. I sent someone _else _after my_ son_. I delayed trying to freemy _father_ and for what? Some washed up, has-been witch to tell me my vision means nothing?"

"It doesn't mean nothing," Aladdin tried, helplessly. "You saw it happen. That must mean we figure out a way—"

"Yeah," she scoffed, "and apparently without any of _her _help." Emma shoved her hands in her coat pockets and paced the exam room in uncomfortable silence. There was no way – simply no way they had enough time. Faces passed before her mind's eye: Henry, James, Snow. Faces of the people she loved…and would lose. And as if that wasn't enough, Regina's ultimatum hung over her head like the poised blade of the guillotine. It was suffocating her, the world closing in as she tried not to think of whose heart the evil queen would pick next – whose innocent soul would be snuffed out before—

"Effie, you _have _to give us something," Philip suddenly rounded on the old bat, his gaze piercing hers, staring her down as he had so many years ago when he'd demanded straight answers from Aurora's infamous aunt.

Maleficent glared cruelly at the ungrateful prince. "I have already given you…much, Philip."

"Much…but not _all_," he challenged her, refusing now to back down. "Before the curse, you _swore _to me it was better this way. That you could either take Regina head-on and _lose_, or conceal yourself, limiting your magic until the savior arrived."

"Your point?" she said coldly.

"She's _arrived, _Effie!" he said through clenched teeth, thrusting his hand out, indicating Emma. "And you're still here." He took the new stone from Trent and held it in front of her. "Help us, Maleficent," he said, then nodded back at Emma. "Help _her_…so we can save Aurora."

Maleficent heaved a huge sigh, but this one had neither the impatience or vexation of a put-upon sorceress. Indeed, she seemed rather tired. "You're not…wrong, Miss Swan," she said slowly, turning once more to the savior. "There is…_one_ thing I can give you."

Emma's heart swelled for Philip and she flushed before she could stop herself. "What?" she practically stumbled back toward Aurora's aunt. "What is it?"

She looked down, hesitating, then nodded with an eerie sort of decidedness. "The rest of _my_ power."

"What?!"

"Effie, you—"

"No," she held up her hand and arrested both Philip and Aladdin's objections. "You are right Philip. This was, after all, the plan all along. To preserve my magic so that I may be of use when…the savior arrives."

"But with _no_ magic, you'll—"

"Be unable to maintain this form, yes. I know. And I will no longer be cloaked from the queen. Right now, she believes me to have been lost in the creation of Storybrooke. She ceased her search for me after issues with Adam and the Lost Boys gave her much more pressing matters to deal with," she explained with a casual wave of her hand. In fact, there was a subtle smirk in her countenance that suggested Maleficent herself had been the cause of those…pressing matters.

Philip shook his head, "But without your magic you'll be as vulnerable as anyone else."

Maleficent nodded. "More so in fact."

"Effie—"

"Wait a minute," Emma shook her head, "you guys are talking about magic like it's-it's… some kind of fuel or something. Like it'll run out. I thought if you were magic you were just…_magic._"

"In our own world, yes," she replied. "A world where magic is in the very air? Enchants every rock and tree? Certainly. But in _this _world?"

"Regina literally took our entire world and shoved it into this one," Aladdin explained, drawing from what he'd last learned from the Genie about how Regina planned the curse. "That doesn't just mean the people. That means everything. And what she couldn't transform, she just buried."

"Like the wishing wells," Philip added. "And the dwarves' hut."

"Ok, but what does that have to do with—"

"She moved _everything_, Emma," Aladdin emphasized. "Including all the magic."

"There are thousands of people in this town," Maleficent took over. "So Regina had to commit nearly all the magic of _our_ world to suppressing each and every citizen in this one – magic masks every memory, creates every single false persona. So each time someone awakens, that little bit of that magic is released and becomes a kind of raw power."

"Raw power?"

"Yes. Power that I imagine you began tapping into fairly recently."

Emma blinked. "Excuse me?"

The sorceress actually rolled her eyes. "This young man said you're a seer, yes?" She nodded. "Well, I imagine you didn't start having visions the moment you rode into town in your obnoxious yellow buggy. That power developed in you later, once people started awakening, believing in the curse, releasing magic."

"But _you _are already awake," she struggled, trying to keep up. "How're _you_ gonna release_ anything_ if you were never under the curse in the first place?"

At this, Maleficent actually grinned. "Because my power isn't tied up in the curse. My power is mine alone. And I can do with it…what I choose."

Philip wiped the sweat from his brow. He was willing to do anything to help Emma succeed, but he knew Regina wasn't likely to give up without a fight. And losing their most powerful ally just _before_ all hell broke loose wasn't exactly the help he had in mind. "There's gotta be something else. Some other way, Effie than to totally surrender your magic—"

"Boy, do not make demands of me in the name of my niece if you are not prepared to accept the solution. This is the only way. The amount of power I have left would be equivalent to more than 100 Storybrooke citizens awakening simultaneously."

Emma gulped. She suddenly didn't like where this was going. "So…giving me the last of…of _your _power…means…?"

Maleficent glanced at Trent, who stood rather stupidly behind the action, holding tightly to the new soulodestone. "It means," she replied, stepping over to Trent, "that the rest will be up to you."

Trent started. "Me?!"

"All of you," she clarified with a sly smile, though she kept her eyes on Trent. "You love her?" she whispered.

Trent stammered and cleared his throat. "Wh-who?"

Maleficent closed her eyes. "Dawn."

The medic's eyes grew wide, his throat constricting. He looked nervously to Philip whose eyes he'd studiously avoided since Mary Margaret's revelation in the cottage. The image of Matt with Dawn in the famed storybook was burned into his mind with stinging clarity, and since then he'd simply gone with the flow in the hopes of saving her, no matter what destiny had divined for her otherwise. But Philip just nodded, allowing Trent Davis to voice what was, in the end, a very simple truth. "Yes," he said quietly. "I do."

Maleficent turned back to Philip, her sorceress gaze crinkling through Maeve's peasant demeanor. "You will swear to me he awakens her? That she is the very next person saved?"

Philip bowed his head. "On my life."

She eyed him shrewdly but at last seemed satisfied. "Very well."

The four of them jumped backwards as Maeve swept toward the center of the room, giving each of them one final nod then thrusting her arms up in the air, throwing her head back.

"Effie, wait—" Philip called out but went unheeded, for billowing around the head nurse's worn sneakers was a dark cloud of thick blue smoke. Emma's eyes practically bugged out of her skull as she watched the smoke encircling 'Maeve's' rotund form from the bottom up. Swirling around her, scaling up the length of the sorceress's disguised body, the blue smoke quickly engulfed her smiling form and Emma immediately started coughing despite the fact that it wasn't seeping into her lungs. Casting her arms to the left and right, trying reflexively to keep the smoke off of her, she felt her palm pass through the cool, misty blue vapor and she gasped, yanking her tingling hand back and clutching it to her side.

"What? What is it?" asked Aladdin, rushing toward her.

"Power," she wheezed. "Raw power."

The group watched in a collected stupor as, with a sharp CRACK, the façade of 'Maeve' finally flashed out of view. As rapidly as it had begun, the billowing cloud disseminated into the air, thick yet harmless smoke that Emma, her hand still tingling, now understood to be the last of Maleficent's magic being released into Storybrooke.

At last the room thinned out and in 'Maeve's' place stood a tall, slender woman, poised in the same long flowing gown of violet satin which Emma first saw her wear in her vision of Aurora's wedding. The plump, aged cheeks and graying hair were no more, replaced by an almost snow-white complexion, high cheek bones, yellow eyes and black lips curled into the same wicked smile that once resembled a dragon's. With a deep, throaty chuckle, Maleficent, restored to her true form, reached up, felt along the black horned headpiece that had also returned and rolled her eyes. "I always did know how to make an entrance."

Emma stood gaping at the tall, imposing figure before her, shocked that a woman, so famously evil in every version of the story she'd ever seen or heard, could in actuality, appear so devastatingly beautiful. In fact, Emma was so transfixed by her that the woman, in a voice no longer belonging to that of a world-weary sixty-year-old nurse but a vibrant, downright regal madam, chided her for her dropped jaw and frozen stance.

"Emma?" Philip touched her shoulder. She remained rooted to the spot. "Emma!" Philip tried again, giving her a gentle shake.

Emma started and finally snapped her gaping mouth shut. "S-sorry I—" she looked curiously at Maleficent, not exactly sure what she wanted to say – needed to say. The very air around her felt different. _She _felt different. Stronger. Powerful.

"Quite a rush, isn't it?" Maleficent's gaze locked with hers in understanding.

"_I'll_ say," came the response, but it wasn't Emma's. Philip and Trent juddered toward Aladdin who was also clearly feeling some effects of the power boost. "I feel like I could open up that lamp right now—"

"Don't!" said Maleficent, her gaze now fixed intently on both gatekeepers. "You must save all your energy for the portal."

"Will we," Emma stammered, licking her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. "Do we need to…say some sort of…I dunno – spell or something?"

"If your vision is as you've told me, you will know what to do at the well. Your powers come from your mind Emma. You don't realize it but you are _willing _your visions to come to you, calling upon yourself to see what you need to see."

Emma nodded with a gulp and fell silent again.

"Quickly now," she hissed in a deep, velvety voice. "Though I swore my allegiance to Aurora years ago, there is still darkness in my heart. Regina will soon know of my presence here and come searching. You must pull Eric out soon and restore Ariel. You have less than two hours before Regina crushes another soul." And without any more ceremony, Maleficent seized the collars of both gatekeepers with her bony hands and ushered them out of the room.

…

Emma and Aladdin moved quickly through the corridors and back out through the loading docks, their senses heightened and racing with what they still felt pulsing through them. Though the initial, staggering effects were wearing off and both could now focus, each still reeled from the release of Maleficent's magic into the world which seemed to be clinging to their skin.

"Come on, come on, hurry," said Philip as the three of them jogged toward Emma's car. Somehow, he'd gotten hold of her keys and tossed them to Aladdin who rushed to the driver's side door and slipped inside.

Philip jerked open the passenger door, braced his hand on the car's roof and turned Emma toward him. "Go," he said, nodding toward the seat.

Emma blinked. "You're not coming?"

He shook his head. "And neither is Lucas."

"Why?"

"You've got your promises and I've got mine."

She glanced back toward the hospital. Sure enough, Trent – or, Lucas – had not followed them. "Wh-what are you talking about?" she huffed. Things happened way too fast in Storybrooke.

"Maleficent's vulnerable now. We can't leave her unprotected."

"But Regina's not after Maleficent."

"True but she _might _be. You and Aladdin can't be the only ones who felt that…that jolt. Remember Regina's been trading on borrowed magic for years. She won't realize right away what's happened, but she might."

"And how do you figure that?" she asked, hands settling at her waist.

"I don't know!" he said impatiently, checking behind them. "But Maleficent was _supposed_ to follow the other rogues into the curse, remember? Up until now, Regina probably assumed something went wrong which stranded Effie in _our _world. If the queen figures out that _Maleficent_ has been on our side all along, she might come looking for more power."

"Philip—"

"And even if she doesn't," he waved her off, "Effie's still got twenty-eight _years'_ worth of information on Regina. I'm betting she'll at least have _some_ clue as to where she's hiding James and the others. If Lucas and I can get to them first while you two set up—"

Emma startled him with a guttural snarl. "Aaaaarrghhhh! If you think she knows _that _then why the hell are we bothering with this stupid portal thing? Why don't we just bust 'em _all _out and—"

"Because I can't be _sure _she knows," he grabbed her arm and pulled her back around, "and we don't have a clue what kind of cells and spells we'd be up against. Plus you've already _seen _your way work in your vision. I'm not talking about a plan B here for getting Eric. I'm talking about everyone _else._"

"But if you find them, Philip, Regina will be there. She'll kill _you_—"

He shook his head. "Not if she wants me to relinquish my guardianship. Remember, she thinks she _has_ mysomething-precious already. Besides, I promised Effie I'd help Lucas wake Aurora. I've gotta try. At the very least we might be able to stall her."

"But—"

"Look, go," he repeated, backing her against the car door. Aladdin sat impatiently inside, revving the engine. "You've got more important things to do right now than argue with me. Besides, you don't need me for this part. I've heard you describe your vision three times today. I'mnot in it."

"Oh for God's sake! That doesn't mean I don't need— I mean that _we_ don't need—"

And then he silenced her with a kiss, his head darting down without hesitation, as if he'd flipped on some switch that made it impossible for him to resist her any longer. He gripped her by the shoulders and her eyes flew open in surprise before quickly fluttering closed. Despite the cold outside and despite his urgency, his lips were warm and soft against hers, so familiar – as if she'd been kissing him for years. _How does he keep _doing _that_? some part of her asked herself, but it was the tiniest remnant of a conscience, and she pushed it to the back of her mind as he deepened the kiss, eliciting that same electrifying gasp of hers as he coaxed her lips apart.

Emma sucked in a breath before surrendering completely, and it took her a moment to realize that for the first time, she wasn't whisked away to a vision. His touch was not simply a means to an end or a doorway to more information about the past or future. _You don't realize it but you are _willing_ your visions to come to you, calling upon yourself to see what you need to see, _Maleficent had told her. But she hadn't _willed _anything this time. Was it possible? Could she really just want _him_ – want _this_ for its sake alone? She pulled him closer, tugging him forward by the lapels of his open jacket as she leaned into the kiss. He responded in full, wrapping his arms down around her waist, letting out a soft moan as he tasted her, and she gasped as she felt something shatter apart in her heart – a wall crumbling down with the might of a tidal wave as she forced herself to realize what had been gnawing at her since she first laid eyes on him at the firehouse. She was ready. She was actually ready to love again. Ready to be _in _love again…and it scared her to death.

Eventually he pulled back, holding her at arm's length as she steadied herself. Emma looked down and tensed, unnerved by the epiphany that had just rocked her very core. "You really have to stop doing that," she whispered unevenly, staring at the ground.

He chuckled and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "Why? Afraid you just might get used to it?"

"Philip," she groaned in resignation. "This isn't the—"

"Time, or the place, I know," he sighed, tucking a tendril of her hair up into her wool cap. "But sooner or later you'll stop trying to kid yourself," he added with a smirk.

Emma bit back a smile. "You're awfully sure of _your_self."

Regretfully, he let his hands slip from her waist. "Go," he said again. "Create your portal. Wake Ariel and Eric." Gradually he started backing away from the car. "Save magic, Emma. Let me save your dad."

Emma shook her head and turned, starting to lower herself into the passenger seat when Philip's last words finally registered. She leapt back out. "Philip!" she called as he crossed the parking lot. He turned around. "Don't even _think _about telling my dad about…about…" she waved her arm clumsily between the two of them, "_this_!" Philip opened his mouth to reply then snapped it shut with a wink. Grinning, he tilted his head to the side with a cheeky shrug then practically skipped back into the hospital. "Philip!" she yelled, outraged, but to no avail. The king was gone.

With an irritated growl, she slumped down into the seat and yanked the door shut. She sat there, stewing like a spurned schoolgirl for a moment before she shook her head, determined to focus on _far_ more important matters at hand than just how much James would flip out if he learned she and Philip had—

She paused mid-stew and glanced suddenly at Aladdin…who was grinning at her from ear to ear. "Oh shut up," she grumbled.

Aladdin laughed and slammed the car into drive. "Didn't say a word."

…

As Lost Boys zipped from room to room, leading Hook on a merry chase through the maze of doors and stairwells in the old boys' home, Rufio and the others had been especially careful to keep him occupied in the upper corridors and as _far _from the dungeons as possible. They had to give Henry time to work his magic and safely extract Peter from his cell. Unfortunately, that meant leading Hook right past his private armory; it was a common deterrent with which the old codger liked to taunt the Lost Boys, many of whom had been dragged in front of the locked rack of weapons and threatened with the very idea of having one or more deadly firearm used on their "worthless" heads in response to some prank or mischief attempted early on. So when Rufio saw where Hook was headed, he shouted a command for the boys to split off into even smaller groups and scatter about the boarding house.

The captain, meanwhile, had fast adjusted to the fact that his magic hook was gone. A small matter, he thought, for he'd soon get it back. In the meantime, he would deal with these brats the old fashioned way - the way he _should_ have dealt with them when they'd first arrived. Magic wands be damned. Regina's edict be damned. He didn't need a magical hook to kill Lost Boys. Hell, he didn't even need a whole hand. Just a trigger finger.

"Hey Ace! Watch out! Yer bein' chased by a one-handed turd!" shouted Binky from above the second level railing as Hook just narrowly missed firing a newly loaded pistol at the boy. The taunt worked and Hook promptly raised his gun and took aim at the much more difficult target above his head, giving Ace time to slip down another corridor. Binky ducked out of view, confident 'old Hookie' would follow him upstairs. "That'll get his goat," he whispered. "You ready?" he hissed at Rufio who was crouched at the other banister, stringing a thin wire between them while they listened for the captain's clunky footsteps racing up the stairs.

"How much longer d'you think they need?" asked Binky, adjusting his prized top hat – the one John Darling had gifted to him so many years ago.

Rufio just shook his head, knowing it wasn't only Henry and Peter they had to worry about. At this very moment, another contingent of boys were on the third floor with Pinocchio and more of Henry's critter friends, busting out Tootles. "Get set," he said as the two of them yanked the wire fully taut just as Hook reached the second floor landing then tripped, sprawling over it into the peeling wallpaper of their corridor.

"Bangarang!" chuckled Binky as he tore back down the stairs to find Ace.

Rufio just stood and laughed, hands perched on his hips like his mentor. "Face it old man. You can't possibly take all of us."

"Oh no?" Hook whirled around and sprang himself up faster than Rufio had been anticipating. The pre-teen gulped, suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun. "Remember Tootles?" he growled, cocking back the chamber. "It doesn't take much to break your spirits, boy. Whadya think would happen to your whole operation here if they found yer bloody carcass at the bottom of those steps?"

Rufio's pulse was racing, but he managed to glance passed his foe and spotted the other group of boys starting down the stairwell from the third floor. They had Tootles. "I uh, I dunno Hookie," Rufio said, stalling. "But somehow I don't think we're gonna find out."

"Oh yeah?" Hook inched forward, tucking the gun's barrel up under Rufio's chin, pressing him against the railing with the other arm, stump and all. "And why is that?"

"Cuz I don't think you'll do it," Rufio said, confidence growing despite his unfortunate predicament. "You won't kill a kid."

Hook let out a menacing laugh. "You really think I'm not capable of pulling this trigger ya little urchin? Do you remember I used to eat runts like you for breakfast?!"

"Oh you're capable all right," Rufio laughed, then slowly took a step to the side. "You're also an idiot."

"Wha—"

Before Hook could react, Pinocchio, who had been tip-toeing down from the third floor with the others, slid down the banister then sprung right up on top of Hook's hat, pulling the wide-brimmed monstrosity down over the captain's eyes before plucking the white feather from its band and waving it over his head like a lasso. The wooden boy whooped and hollered and crowed, holding tightly to fistfuls of the old man's long black curls like the reins of a horse. Hook flailed his own arms about, thrashing around, trying to see and in doing so fired three rounds from his pistol. But the bullets went astray as the boys crowding around him continued to laugh and point, cheering on Pinocchio as the rest of his group successfully snuck Tootles downstairs.

"All right Pinoke, that's it! Let's go!" shouted Rufio as the rest of the boys cleared the hallway, all headed to the first floor where they would hopefully meet up with Henry and Peter.

But Pinocchio wouldn't budge. "Go!" he shouted. "I'll wait till you're downstairs!"

"You kiddin' me wood-brain! Let go of 'im! We're clear!"

"No!" said Pinocchio, clamping his whole body down over Hook's hat-covered head, dodging every attempt the old man made to grab hold of him. With only one good hand, Hook hadn't yet wanted to surrender the gun, but he would soon. "I got this! You—" but just as swiftly as Hook had rounded on Rufio, the practiced pirate holstered his gun, reached up and snatched the poor puppet from his head, yanking his clunky form down so hard that the boy's cedar shoes banged into the floor with a decided CRACK and Pinocchio yelped in pain.

"Pinoke!" Rufio cried, moving to lunge forward, but Hook swung the toy before him.

"What was that you were sayin' about being an idiot, boy?"

Rufio panicked as Hook taunted him, dangling Pinocchio by the leg. By now, he'd learned his lesson and was holding the puppet at arm's length so that Pinocchio couldn't do much but squirm. Luckily, that meant Hook's one good hand was occupied and he wouldn't be able to hold the puppet and his gun at the same time. However, when Rufio glanced down at the holstered pistol and thought briefly about snatching it from his belt, Hook seemed to read his mind. "Don't even think about it," sneered Hook as he brought Pinocchio more fully into view. "You reach for that gun and I'll snap its leg." Pinocchio whimpered as Rufio stepped backwards, hands up in surrender. "It'll be like snapping a toothpick. Now…march."

…

Nibs and Henry had a heck of a time shouldering Peter's awkward, bulky weight, but with Hansel's help and Gretel guiding them, they emerged just in time to see Ace, Binky and a dozen others sliding, hanging, running and swinging down from curtain rods and wall sconces as the boys congregated near the entrance of the mess hall. _Right on schedule, _Henry thought to himself just as he felt something scurry up his leg and plop into his worn breast pocket. "_Mick?_" he called out to his new favorite critter, glancing down as two Lost Boys relieved him of Peter's weight.

"_At your service, Pal!_" came the reply in his head, a sensation to which Henry had already easily adjusted (and far quicker than his mother had gotten a handle on her own powers). Henry grinned as he could _feel _the mouse smile.

"_We all set? Is my mom coming?_"

"_Help's on the way, Pal,_" reported the head critter just as he felt Gretel tugging on his arm, pulling him through one set of double doors as they all made their way toward the back of the hall near the long stretch of windows.

"Henry, come _on!_" she tugged at his sleeve as Henry stumbled after her, Nibs trailing behind. As the last group entered the mess hall, both Nibs and Henry took a mental count. Nibs spotted Tootles right away and breathed a sigh of relief, locking eyes with his old friend who looked just as tired and ragged as Peter, albeit not as…old. But he was free with a familiar smile crinkling his eyes. Another quick sweep around the room however, removed all relief.

"Hey," he elbowed Henry in the arm. "Where's Rufio?"

But Henry was already nodding in concern. "And Pinocchio?"

"Didn't quite think this whole thing through did ya, you little bastard?" came a hideous snarl as the other set of double doors were thrown open with a crash and in stumbled Rufio, obviously kicked inside by the rear. Henry gasped as Hook emerged, holding a terrified Pinocchio, still flailing about wildly. But Hook's grip appeared iron-clad. "You know," sneered the captain as Gretel and Hansel rushed forward to drag Rufio over to the rest of them. "The more you squirm, the tighter my grip. You might want to stop that before you wrench your own leg off you wooden freak!"

"Hey!" Henry cried, incensed tears stinging his cheeks. "Leave 'im alone. I'm the one you want Hook!" he cried, clenching his fists so tightly he could swear his nails were breaking the skin of his palms.

"Wrong kid," Hook spat, bringing him and his puppet captive closer to the large hearth at the head of the room. Henry drew in a sharp breath. "In fact, despite what your dear _mummy _has told you your whole life, you are _nothing _special _here._"

"What's a matter Hook?" came a fierce growl from amidst the group of boys. They had been crowded around their old leader, shielding him from Hook's view, but now the fully grown Peter Pan, with his faded green tunic worn and torn to shreds, emerged on his own will and came to stand by Henry, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder for support. "Afraid to take on someone your own size?"

"On the contrary Pan," Hook clucked as he inched closer and closer to the hearth, "I can think of nothing more satisfying than to take out _all _of your little lost boys one by one while you stand there and watch, barely able to hold yourself up on those _adult _legs of yours."

But Peter scoffed, taking his hand from Henry and striking his most famous pose. "After all these years, you're still just a crazy old codger. You really think keeping me in that dungeon made me forget how to fight?"

Henry glanced behind him with a gulp as the interplay between enemies continued. Through the glass he could see the sun beginning to set. _Come on_, he thought, peering into the wilderness, searching…praying. _Come on please… "Mick, where ARE they?"_ But even Mick seemed to have been petrified into silence as he peeked over the top of Henry's pocket, watching as Pinocchio continue to hang from Hook's outstretched hand.

"Of course not," Hook said with a wave of his stump before he casually used it to nudge a huge brass knob one quarter turn and ignite the gas-powered fireplace. Instantly, the hearth erupted into a roaring, menacing inferno.

"Aaaah!" cried Pinocchio, as Hook held him wooden frame inches from the flames. "Please! No!"

_They were supposed to be here by now, _Henry's bleary eyes surveyed the still winter landscape outdoors, and noticed not one twig or branch out of place, not a single rustling of trees in the distance. _Come on, Emma. Don't be late!_

"But I doubt very much you'll have any fight left once we turn your little friend here into firewood. What do _you _think, Pinnnnnnochio?" he jeered, bringing trembling wooden face right up to his nose.

"Henry!" came a whispered hiss at his other side, and Henry started as Gretel was suddenly right next to him. "The hook!" she murmured.

"What?"

"You still have the hook!"

"I know but—"

"_Do _something!"

With a slight jump, Henry reached into his jacket pocket and pulled it out. Downstairs he'd used it to disenchant Peter's lock. But it _was_ like a wandright? Perhaps it could do…other things? "Not so fast, Hook!" he cried, taking hold of it in shaking hands and aiming the hook right at the smoldering hearth.

Hook paused just as he was about to throw the wooden boy in the fire and then chuckled. "You think you know how to use—"

But Henry ignored him, squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. In the dungeon he'd willed the chains free. All he had to do was will…the fire…to…

With a flash, what looked like a stream of ice-blue lightning streaked across the room and shot into the fire, exploding against the back wall of the hearth in a spectacular cloud of cool smoke and snow. When it cleared, the fire had fully extinguished and crystalline icicles hung floor-to-ceiling in its place.

"All right Hank!" screamed Ace as the rest of the boys erupted in cheers, crowing and singing the praises of the young prince.

"_Atta boy, Henry!_" cheered Mick from his pocket.

"Bangarag Henry!"

"Way ta go—"

"SILENCE!" bellowed Hook, recovering from his shock and gripping Pinocchio's leg even tighter. "You think I _need _fire to dispose of this aberrant creature?!" Peter and the children fell silent once more as he swung the puppet up and hooked his other leg in between two crossbeams, stretching the poor boy from shoe to painted glove. "One more tug and this _toy _splits apart into twelve different pieces!"

"No!" Henry cried, starting forward, but Gretel held him back.

"Bad form, Hook!" yelled Peter, scrambling. "What about the code?"

"Ah yes, the _code. _Quite right Pan. We do owe 'im one final request don't we?" He turned toward Pinocchio and sneered. "How 'bout it, boy? Any last words!?"

"I have a few!" cried a fierce, irate voice that seemed to shake the very walls. Suddenly, a thunderous crash like that of a shattered window sounded from the other end of the room and all eyes turned in astonishment as the doors to the kitchen smashed open and in stalked Geppetto. "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY SON!"

Hook's jaw dropped at the sight of it – 'ol man Marco', flanked by Michael Tillman, Red Riding Hood and Doctor Hopper, with Akela the wolf leading the pack. The wolf itself was threatening enough: one red eye, one grey, and brandishing a set of vicious, salivating incisors. But the ire in the old man's eyes was far more menacing than the animal's snarl.

"Father!" Pinocchio, still stretched between Hook and the crossbeams, reached his free hand toward his papa whose eyes flooded instantly with tears and recognition. Henry could see it too and gasped as he watched the 'Storybrooke haze' ebbing from 'Marco's' eyes and Geppetto fully emerge. The old man's hands were steady though, despite the emotion of the moment, gripping tightly to the sledgehammer he and Tillman had just used to break through the kitchen.

Hook, still gaping at this unprecedented intrusion, stood stupidly still as Red raised a loaded cross-bow and aimed right for Hook's good hand. The arrow tore through his flesh and Hook released his grip on the boy. Pinocchio scurried out of the crossbeams and dropped to the ground.

"Father! Father!" Pinocchio cried out, tearing after the old craftsman with furious joy. Bounding towards Geppetto and leaping into his arms, Pinocchio wrapped his sore, wooden limbs around his papa's neck and squeezed tight. "You f-found me!"

Geppetto reeled back from the force of his son's hold and knew instantly what it was to be whole. How had he ever forgotten? How could he not remember his little Pinocchio? "My boy," he whispered. "My brave boy." And as he sealed the embrace, surely never to let go again, the two of them were engulfed in a warm blue light. Streaks of magic filled every crook and cranny of the dilapidated boys' home, and Henry could swear he could _feel _the magic swirling through him as the blue glow turned white hot and blinded them all in a brilliant flash. Sounds of awe and wonder filled the room he could hear even Peter gasp in the presence of such power. When it finally dimmed, Henry broke into a wide, toothy, bleary-eyed grin. For Pinocchio was once again…a real boy.

"Wretches! Miserable little imps!" Hook tried to recover, finally managing to yank the arrow free with a howl and now clutching his bleeding hand to his chest. "You won't get away with this!"

Henry, too thrilled with Pinocchio's restoration to worry about where Emma was right now, straightened up as tall as his little form would allow and struck the same pose as Peter Pan. He glanced over at Red, guessing she would be the one most in the know and was rewarded with a nod as Red parted her cloak and revealed the satchel now barely hidden under its folds. Henry nodded back. "Actually Hook, we already have."

"What?" Hook spat.

"Happy thoughts on three boys!" Henry called to his men, and immediately several boys dispersed around the mess hall. "One—!" Two boys each settled on either side of Geppetto, Red, Tillman and Jiminy. "Two—!" Henry himself grabbed hold of Peter as did Nibs and Pockets. Rufio swung Gretel into his arms while Ace grabbed hold of Hansel. Finally, Binky whistled for Akela who bounded over and allowed the boy to take hold around his middle. With everyone in place, Henry gave Red another wink. "Two-and-a-half—!"

Red chuckled as she unhooked the brown satchel she'd been instructed to bring. Whatever Emma had seen in her vision had led them exactly here, so it was with a confidence born of her trust in both the savior and this precocious little kid that she released the leather straps on the worn case and lifted out a very…special…top hat. With canine swiftness, she tossed it across the room to Emma's son. Henry gripped it tightly by its brim, already feeling the magic inside – Jefferson's hat. The Mad-Hatter's gateway to Wonderland – simply bursting for release. Henry took one last look at Hook and then bellowed, "THREE!"

Henry felt Peter, Nibs and Pockets grip tightly to his forearms as he flung the hat toward the ground like a frisbee, just as Emma had described on their way back from Jefferson's mansion. If Emma could make it work, it simply _had _to work for Henry. And sure enough, the spinning top hat picked up speed as the air in the room turned cold and a thunderous boom shook the mess hall.

"Wha—what's happening!?" cried Hook, but as he twisted himself up to see, he was astonished to find that he was the only one…still on the ground. "How in the— impossible!" he cried as he strained his eyes upward and saw that _all _of the Lost Boys…were flying.

"Poor Hookie," chuckled Rufio as he readjusted his hold of Gretel, making sure, as he and several others were instructed, that he had a secure grip on those who didn't have fairy dust inside of them. "Thought you got rid of all our happy thoughts, didja?"

"Aww, don't be so hard on 'im Rufio," joked Pockets, treading air beside Henry, holding just as firmly to the savior's son. "He's nothin' but an old codfish after all."

"Nah, not codfish," said Peter. "Crocodile." The taunt was unmistakable in Hook's eyes as Peter made a soft clicking sound with his tongue, like that of a tick-tocking clock.

"Shut up!" spat the pirate, waving his stump furiously in the air. But what Peter began, the other boys followed, and soon the room filled with a symphony of ticking clock noises as the spinning hat picked up speed then started sinking into the floor like a drill.

"It's working," Henry whispered both aloud and in his head as Peter and Pockets kept tick-tocking beside him and Mick glanced up out of his pocket with a mousy grin. The hat descended further, and they watched in gleeful anticipation as the swirling portal opened wide to a new world below them: revealing– as Henry had hoped – a rather morose Jefferson in a bizarre room surrounded by hats, head leaning against his palm as if he'd been sitting there moping ever since Emma and her parents had escaped the mansion. "Hey Jefferson!" he shouted down, cupping his hands around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone.

The Mad Hatter jolted from his dejected pose and threw his head back, looking up in horror at the portal opening above his head. "How in the—" Henry saw him mouth.

"Two go in and two come out right?" he shouted down as the funnel widened and Hook crawled further across the floor, trying desperately to escape the expanding opening.

Jefferson's confused gaze darted around, spotting what looked to be dozens of young boys hovering over the floor of the portal, holding themselves and others safely above the reaches of his hat's swirling center. Briefly he thought he was being mocked. Had Emma used the hat again just to taunt him with more people that couldn't help him escape the deserted Wonderland? Then he saw it – the portal slowly revealing a pair of black buckled shoes dangling over the its edge as it spread further beneath Captain Hook. He looked back to the boy he now recognized as Henry Mills – or rather Henry _Swan_ – and grinned in understanding. "Two go in, two come out – that's the rule!" he shouted back with glee.

"Well here's number two!" he cried, pointing to Hook who had taken refuge on the still frozen stone hearth the portal hadn't yet reached.

"Fools! Miscreants! You will pay for this!" he yelled even as he uselessly scraped his feet against the stone, scrambling backwards though he had nowhere left to go.

"Give it up, old man!" said Peter who even now still had enough fairy dust inside of him to help Pockets and Nibs support his flight.

"Yeah enjoy Wonderland ya 'ol coot!" called out Tootles to the delight of all his friends.

"Send us a post card will ya?" added Ace.

And the Lost Boys, soaring with a plethora of happy thoughts as they spent the last of their fairy dust, watched with glee as the portal gobbled up their longtime foe and sent Captain Hook screaming into the gates of Wonderland – at last providing Jefferson with a means to escape.

…

*****So to answer many of your questions – no! You don't have to wait a whole year for another update! I told you this one was coming soon! Hope you enjoyed. **

**Shout out to a few dozen newcomers to the fold who visited, favorite and followed. I am SO impressed by those of you who actually committed to all 43 chapters straight through! That **_**is**_** stamina considering how completely out of control this one-time supposed one-shot has gotten! But we're getting nearer and nearer to the conclusion now, so I don't imagine it will last much longer *whew!***

**Shout out to MajesticallyDamaged, James Duke, atheart101, astrakelly, OnceUponAChloe, lizzytish-lover of everything8, sgcycle, duchessduchie, sherwei.07, HelenaHermione, chibi-ringo, tate4eva, Sara K M, Amee95, Madje Knotts, and Maiqu20 – stellar readers, reviewers and representatives of fans both old and new. I think my favorite one-liner comment of the entire review section is lizzytish-lover of everything8 who rightly pointed out that this 400+ pager takes place over like…4 days. Ha! Legitimate laugh-out-loudness going on here, because it really does! When you consider that as of now, the tree lighting was like…two days ago – yeah. Lots happens when you have over 40 characters to keep track of **

**Plenty more to come – no I have not forgotten about Adam, or Gunlief for that matter. And fear not – James will soon um *ahem* meet up with Philip. All in due time. Until then, Happy Labor Day (if you celebrate) and happy Monday otherwise!*****


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